


Withering Away

by GalaxyThreads



Series: Beheading Didn't Solve Much [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Avenger Loki (Marvel), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canon-Typical Violence, Depressive Thoughts, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Loki is a mess with capital "M", Minor Injuries, Muteness, Permanent Injury, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Avengers, Protectiveness, Redemption, Sort Of, Team as Family, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Time Travel, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, selective mutism, sickfic kind of, they get better at it as time goes on, thor whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-02-07 05:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 73,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18614458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyThreads/pseuds/GalaxyThreads
Summary: [ENDGAME SPOILERS!] Thor failed. He failed his family, his people, his friends, and drinking solves nothing. When the Avengers arrive to initiate their plan, they find a much different Thor. One who’s only willing to agree on one condition: When they get the Tesseract, it will be on the Statesmen, and Thor will bring back Loki with him. (Fix-it) (No slash, no smut) Avengers as family! Whump!





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: ENDGAME! PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK! :) Like guys, I'm not kidding, you will know things.
> 
> Thank you guys for trying this! Hopefully we can find healing in this together. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing!
> 
> Rated for: Some violence, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, some gore/possible injuries, mentions of past torture, mentions of Odin's A+ (sarcastically) parenting, depressive thoughts, and paranoia on my part. If further warnings are needed, they'll be posted at the top of the chapters. :) No slash, no smut, no non-con, no incest—nothing else inappropriate. Language is all K.
> 
> Pairings: Pepper/Tony, Clint/Laura, Gamora/Peter Quill, and some Thor/Jane (my OTP shall live on, okay! =D) 
> 
> For your information, this story is cross-posted on Fanfiction.Net under the pen name of "LodestarJumper"
> 
> Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)
> 
> For the record, I do not think that Thor would collapse and shut down inward, not outward. :)

* * *

 " _I know I let you down, didn't I?"_

-Imagine Dragons "I Bet My Life" 

* * *

 

Chapter One:

The head.

He was supposed to go for the head. (Why on Helheim did he—?) It would fix  _everything._ Vengeance for Loki would be met, his dead soldiers could sleep in peace. It would solve all the problems. That was that. Simple. If he'd just had bloody better aim, he would have fixed it right at the beginning of this mess, at the start with Wakanda and Thanos's  _stupid_ snap and his  _awful_ aim.

Stormbreaker is not Mjolnir.

Thor has been using a blunted weapon for years before got the stupid axe. If he'd had Mjolnir (if Hela hadn't  _destroyed it along with the beginning of everything else)_ then he would have gone for the head. Bashed Thanos's ugly purple skull in and not felt a hint of guilt. Thanos killed his brother. Thanos killed his—

Why did he  _want_ to make Thanos suffer? To make him  _feel_ his death like Thanos had made him feel  _his?_ (Yes. He's breathing. His heart beats, but everything  _alive_ in him died when Loki's neck sna—why does he have to keep thinking of that Norn's twice cursed word?).

Everything is numb.

It hurts.

How can he hurt and feel nothing?

Steve drags him away from the stupid spot that Thanos disappeared from, and tries to talk to him, but Thor doesn't hear a word of it. His eye is twitching. Not his normal eye. The one that Hela took. Does he need the clarification? He only has one eye. Oh, Norns, he as  _one_ eye and his planet is destroyed, and Brunnhilde took point and fled with everyone else, and Heimdall, and  _Loki is dead—_

He feels sick.

_Failed. Failed. Failed. Failed. Failed—_

He throws up all over the forest floor, digs his fist into Stormbreaker's handle, and  _screams._ A long guttural howl from somewhere hollow inside him. Somewhere that is still sharp with the sting of failure, and not numb with the realization of how much he's lost. ( _Lose. What more can I lose. Lose. Lose. Lose. Lose. Lose. Loki. Lose. Loki)_.

"Thor," it's Steve's voice, but Thor isn't focused on him. He knows that the captain is trying to calm him, but he can't pay attention to it. All he can hear is his ragged screams.

The head.

He was supposed to go for the head.

He has fought enemies for  _hundreds_  of years, and he didn't go for the bloody head. The vendetta didn't matter that much. He's the reason that trillions are now dead, he's the reason that they've lost so much,  _(Loki died for him. Loki—_ ).

His voice gives out before the anxiety and sickness in him do.

Everything just feels so wretchedly  _wrong._

Steve swears sharply, and he can hear Natasha's voice now ( _and can't you just get it together? They don't need to comfort you, you—)._ She's speaking just as rapidly, and Steve says something about shock before her hand slams against his face. His head whips to the left, and he bites at his tongue to withhold the surprised cry that threatens to escape him.

His hearing returns with full force, and he blinks several times (stupid eye, it's rubbing against the back of his skull, and Thor prefers the stupid eye-patch over this cursed thing) before he can see the assassin properly. Her lips are pressed together with aggravation and concern, but her eyes are settled against him.

Steve is watching him, too, and Rhodes.

Thor bites at his tongue sharply, suddenly aware how stupid he's being. (The head, he was supposed to go for the stupid head, and he didn't—)

"Thor," Steve says the word quietly, softly, as if Thor is something fragile.

Thor's fingers fist.

He wants to hit something.

No, he wants to  _kill_ something.

Thanos.  _Took. Everything._

He wants to rip Thanos's heart (if he  _has_ one) from his chest and  _squeeze._ Make him bleed out slowly, make him  _bleed_ because—stop. No. He doesn't want to think about that. Stop—( _He popped Loki's blood vessels. His little brother. Blood was pooling in his eyes and down his mouth it—)._ Prevent Thanos from gaining any passage to Valhalla. Without a soul you can't enter, and if he rips out the heart then Thanos can't—

No.

Don't be stupid.

The head. He  _has_ to go for the head when he finds him. He will. He'll kill Thanos properly this time. Kill him dead. Dead and dead and dead and—(His mother is dead. His father is dead. Heimdall is dead. Asgard is dead. Hela is dead. Loki is—)

"Thor," Natasha's voice again, and she grabs his shoulders, "look at me."

He doesn't want to.

He doesn't want to see how ashamed she is of him.

_Why didn't he go for the stupid head!?_

"Thor  _Bor Buri_ —look me in the eyes, you  _moron_!" Natasha commands, and backhands him again. Thor's teeth dig deeper into his gums, but he lifts his eyes (ha, there's only one.  _One._ One. Like him. One member of his family. One of Asgard's blood left. One of—). Natasha's green-blue eyes are wide, and Thor can't quite place from what. Shock, maybe.

"Alright," Natasha says, some relief slipping into her stance, she rubs at his arms, "alright. Breathe, okay? We're okay.  _We're okay."_

No, it's not.

(The head, why didn't he—?)

"Thor," Steve avers and kneels next to him (when did Thor land on his knees? The forest is hard beneath him). Steve's mouth opens, but he doesn't seem able to put any words together. Nothing strings poetically in Thor's mind, either.

They failed.

After  _everything_ they lost; they  _failed._

000o000

Thor doesn't say a word for following weeks. Every time he tries, a strangled noise accompanies it, and nothing proper comes out. He doesn't breathe a word of this to the other Avengers (Tony is gone. Taken to space with the spider and the second-rate magician, and it  _stings_ because he was supposed to save, him, too). Everything familiar Thor knew is missing. Especially here.

The team is incomplete, and it shows. He failed them. If he'd made it here sooner, if he hadn't been so stupidly bent on getting Stormbreaker, then Tony might still be close enough for them to find. Thor might have been able to at least save  _him_ because so far all he's done is get people killed.

Dead.

He gets them killed dead.

He's managed to put together from brief spits of conversation over the next weeks from Thanos's departure that the Avengers had a dispute in a parking lot somewhere over some sort of agreement (peace treaty, Thor doesn't know, and doesn't really care) and the frazzled bits of it come spitting out violently.

He's never seen Rhodes yell at anyone until word of Tony's possible death is brought up again, and he's screaming at Steve for being such an idiot and only leaving a stupid letter instead of apologizing in person.

Steve takes it wordlessly, but there's pain in his eyes.

Bruce is quiet, far to quiet, but Thor can't  _ask_ him what's wrong because his voice has stopped working. Loki was always the silvertongue ( _was, not is)_ in his family, and Thor has always been the bumbling fool.

The head.

Why couldn't he have gone for the stupid—!?

He overhears a discussion between Natasha and Bruce as he attempts to cook dinner for everyone (their meals have been scattered, far and few in-between, and Thor knows that the hunger pangs are going to eat them inside out. He's a terrible cook, and was always teased mercilessly by Sif—dead—about poison. Loki once remarked that he wouldn't need to brew anything to kill anyone when Thor could create death on a plate with ease. He can't cook well, but he knows it's importance. No one else is doing it), and from what he pieces together, Bruce lost Hulk in the...when Thanos did his thing. "Two halves of one whole" he'd said quietly, "perfectly balanced in half now".

He'd nearly dropped the fork he was using to cut at the celery. (It's stupid, he knows, but he can't hold a knife without thinking of Loki and  _how stupid his brother is for going after Thanos with something barely above a toothpick)._ Half and half. The snap. A perfect reminder of his failure.

The head.

Why didn't he go for the stupid head!?

Apparently the shock of having the green beast removed from him is vast. Thor can imagine so. Bruce has had someone else living in his head for more than a decade and to be truly free, to have him  _absent_ must be jarring.

Thor attempts to serve the dinner, but no one really tries to eat it, including himself. They've gathered at the table, sitting in silence, and playing with the food as they try to avoid the topic.

No one says a word.

Thor picks up the meal and tries to remember why he bothered to try.

His clothing from his brief stays here still fits, but the room is barren of anything else personal. Thor hardly spent time at the Avengers compound, ever since Tony moved them upstate, Thor was to busy with Asgard and trying to find the Infinity Stones (if he had just  _found the stupid things_ this would all be  _over._ Thanos would have never  _won_ and he wouldn't have missed the stupid head) that he never spent much time here.

There's the blanket that Jane bought him when they still lived in Avengers Tower, but he buries it in the closet because he can't bare to think about it. The wound is still fresh and painful. He loved Jane. It wasn't a mutual dumping, despite what he'd sniffed to keep Loki from digging at it. Jane was taken in the snap, along with Erik, and Darcy.

He can't even try to apologize for the mess he made of their relationship.

She's dead.

Like most everyone else.

Because he missed the stupid head.

He doesn't sleep much, and when he does drift off he finds himself back at the  _Statesmen_ watching Loki die over and over and over again until he wakes up gasping, Heimdall's final cries lingering in his head like a melody.

He doubts that anyone sleeps much, he can see it in the hollow faces at the shadows growing deeper under their eyes. Natasha finds some sort of device left by Director Fury, but it pings out a few days later, and then suddenly Captain Mar'vel has arrived.

Carol is...she's a bit of a snot, to be honest, but Thor doesn't interact with her much. He still can't talk, like a useless mute, and he doubts that anyone would stand in defense of him. Carol would pick him dry in anger, and he knows that she already blames the death of Fury on him.

He doesn't see why not.

The head.  _Why didn't he go for the stupid head_!?

Twenty one days after Thanos, Carol manages to find and bring Tony home. Another Guardian is with him, Nebula, he thinks, and Rocket clings to her for the rest of the evening as Tony passes out and then she reveals that she knows where Thanos is and Thor's stomach settles with a burned fury.

Finally. A chance to make things  _right._ To settle them as they  _should_ be.

They'll get the stupid Infinity Stones and fix all of this. No one will have to know of how terribly he failed.

But Thanos doesn't have them. "... _The last of the energy to destroy them, and it nearly killed me."_

Thor wants to strangle him. How  _dare he!?_ He is not God, he does  _not have the right_ to do this to them, he doesn't have the  _right_ to claim this much life and not let them take it back. This is  _not_ fair! This is  _not_ how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to fix this with a snap of their fingers and bring everyone back.

( _Everyone except Loki. Except Asgard. Because they died not at the Stone's hand, but another's.)_

Bruce's punch is enough to jerk Thanos back a little, but he hardly seems to care. He turns his attention to Nebula and begins to speak to her of admiration and love that Thor feels  _sick_ at. A creature like him—a monster—does not  _have_ the capacity for love. Murder is not love.

He doesn't realize what he's doing until Thanos's head is rolling on the floor at their feet. The blood stains Stormbreaker's blade.

"What did you just do!?" Someone cries out behind him.

Thor only feels numb.

Numb, sharp, and still so  _angry._

"I went for the head," he says, but his voice is slurred with emptiness. The hollowness that he has felt following him like a shadow for weeks now. And he—wait. He  _spoke._ For the first time in  _days_ and he spoke.

He opens his mouth to say more, but the strangling monster wraps around his vocal cords again and nothing comes out. He turns back to the Avengers, helpless, but none of them seem to realize his dilemma. Rocket is staring at Thanos with wide eyes, Steve, Rhodes, Bruce, and Natasha are openingly gaping, as if they didn't believe Thor capable of doing what he did.

And—it's faint, but Thor had Loki for a brother ( _had, not has)_ and knows subtle body language somewhat—anger. Fury. Natasha's gaze lifts from Thanos as Nebula slowly closes the eyes of her father's corpse to him and he can see her lip curl a bit.

He didn't do it right again. He never  _does._ ( _Thor, my son, that form is not correct, don't leave these grounds until you've perfected it, Thor you can't honestly expect that this will fix anything, my prince you failed this assignment again, you can't learn this language right, you're always messing this up, it's about causing Ragnarok, the Tesseract or your brother's head, only wanted an equal, you're such an idiot, oaf, you can't defeat me, you need a tutor, Loki is well advanced beyond you, all you're good at is battle, in my youth I courted war, Thor, this isn't working out for us, I can't do a long distance relationship anymore, you—)_

Natasha looks like she wants to hit him, be reigns herself with control. Bruce has no such problems. He slams his hand against Thor's face, "You idiot! He could have had some way to fix this!" He cries.

Thor stares at him, opening his mouth to object, but that stupid thief has not returned his voice.

"How could you do this!? You just ruined everything!" Bruce roars. Thor rears back from him slightly.

Bruce's hand rises again, but Rhodes grabs it, "Bruce, _enough_."

"Enough!?" Bruce cries, "Thanos had to have had a backup plan. He'd have to keep snapping his fingers to leave the universe balanced—he  _had to have a backup plan!"_

"There wasn't one," Nebula says and rises to her feet slowly. Thor's hands tighten around Stormbreaker, but the handle is unfamiliar to him. Dead. Tree gave his arm for it, but it's so cold. "This was it."

"You don't know that!" Bruce argues, "He—"

"I  _know_ what my father was planning!" Nebula snaps, her robotic hand clenches and she storms forward towards Bruce as Rocket attempts to calm her with rushed words that are ignored. "I lived every day for eighteen years with the plan written into my  _body._ I spent my childhood learning of perfect balance and why genocide was perfectly acceptable. I was surrounded by it on all sides— _you don't know him like I do!"_

Bruce's stare is heated, and Thor realizes for the first time  _why_ the Hulk reacted so violently only to Bruce's rage. Bruce, in of himself, is not a calm person. The anger stemmed from somewhere, and Thor can see it now in Bruce's pale fists and his tight jaw.

Nebula stares at him, hard, and then relents a little when it's clear Bruce has no words for her.

Bruce turns to  _him_ , and Thor feels something in his chest tighten with pain and wariness at how furious he is, "You should have let him live. He knew the most about Infinity Stones between  _all_ of us and he could have told us where they were or some way to get them back!"

He's going to choke on this anxiety.

"Bruce," Steve says softly.

"No!" Bruce whirls, "Tell me that it isn't his fault!  _Tell me!_  If he had just aimed for Thanos's arm or his  _head_ none of this would have happened!"

He's going to be sick again.

His chest seizes as no one speaks his defense. The blame is pinned on him, and there is no reason for it to be anywhere else. What he  _did—_ Why didn't he just go for the head in the first place!? Loki, even with his stupid pointy  _toothpick,_ went for the  _head_!

Thor heaves out a sharp breath, and feels his tongue tangle in his throat.

They blame him for this. ( _Why are you so shocked? It isn't blame if it's truth. All you do is make mistakes, you ignorant fool)._

"Alright," Steve says quietly, drawing them back, "that's enough. Are we done here?"

Thor refuses to meet his teamm—the  _Avengers_ stare, and glances towards Thanos's dismantled corpse again. He hopes it rots. He hopes that he  _suffers_ for what he did. What he  _stole._ Thanos is a thief, a thief of life, but a thief nonetheless.

He  _stole_ Loki—no. He doesn't want to think about that. Not now. He's haunted by the image every time he closes his eyes. He's  _not_ going to think about that.

He went for the head.

And made this so much worse.

000o000

The flight back to Earth is silent, and they arrive on the grounds of the Avengers Compound to Tony waiting for them, and Steve barely manages to explain their failure. Tony listens wordlessly, and then he barely makes it through civil greetings before he's shouting: "What were you thinking!? You could have made this worse!"

"How?" Natasha challenges, "Tony, tell me  _how._ Everyone is already dead. What more could he have done?"

Thor bites at his lip sharply, trying to quell the sharp pang of guilt as it slams into him again. His fault. His fault,  _his fault!_

Tony's hands fist, "This isn't some sort of game, Nat, he could have killed all of you, or it could have been some sort of trap, or he could have snapped his fingers again—"

"There weren't any Infinity Stones," Rhodes counters, "Tones, calm down."

"I  _am_ calm!"

"Tony, I'm sorry," Steve says. His tone is one pleading for approval, "But we did the best we could."

Tony's lips are pursed together, and Thor can see that he's trying, and failing, to hide emotion. Tony's jaw clenches and he shakes his head. "It wasn't enough. You didn't get my ki—" Tony's voice breaks and he turns his head sharply to the side. "You didn't get my kid."

The knot grows ever tighter.

Tony had a  _child_ that he lost.

Thor is being such a selfish idiot for only thinking about himself and what  _he_ lost. If he'd just had  _that_ in mind when he went hopping up to Thanos with stupid Stormbreaker, then he wouldn't have tried to make the Titan suffer. He would have killed him cleanly, and that would have been it. Trillions wouldn't be dead.

The universe wouldn't be balanced.

Thor wouldn't have caused such a mess.

The  _head._ Why didn't he go for the  _head!?_

"We all lost someone," Steve starts slowly, gently, but Tony's hand slams into his face. Steve flinches back and Thor shifts, uncomfortable.

"Shut it!" Tony demands, "You don't know crap about what I'm going through, Rogers. This is...This is…" he's heaving out sharp breaths, but rather than pin that fact that it's somehow Steve's fault like he did last night, Tony turns to  _him._ "Why didn't you go for the head, Point Break?" His voice gasping.

Thor opens his mouth, but no response slips through him.

His fault.

His.

His alone.

The weight of all these dead fall on his shoulders.

Bruce's heated stare lands on his back, "He  _did."_ He growls out lowly before he huffs and storms off towards the Compound. Tony looks confused, but mostly just  _hurt,_ open, and  _raw._

He shakes his head slowly, "You could have stopped all of this. Peter wouldn't—" Tony makes a little hiccuping noise before snapping his jaw shut and his fists clench at his sides.

He's going to be sick all over  _everything._ Sick and sick and  _sick._

Steve shakes his head and grips Tony's shoulder, "You need to lay down." Steve's right. Thor can see that Tony's legs are struggling to hold his weight, and his hand keeps coming to rub at where Thanos gutted him. He's pale, shaky, and sweaty.

Tony fights him a bit, but eventually Rhodes manages to bully him back inside the Compound. Carol gives him another angry stare before explaining to Steve that she has other places she needs to be and shoots off into the sky.

The combined weight of everyone's frustration makes everything inside of him feel wrong.

He spends a majority of that night next to the toilet bowl, dry heaving.

000o000

It doesn't get any better from that point. Nebula and Rocket take their ship to complete the rounds that the other Guardians can't now, and the Avengers try to settle together. The absence of Clint is pointed, more so with Tony present, but the ex-assassin is impossible to locate, so they try to move on.

At least, Thor  _thinks_ they do.

His words are still few and far in between, and the grief threatens to eat him whole. Between everything that happened on Sakaar and Asgard, he never had time to properly  _grieve._ Asgard is dead. Odin is dead.  _His father is dead._ With no way to reach the All-Force with Asgard in pieces throughout the cosmos, he can't talk to him in visions anymore.

Thor is alone.

He tries to move on, he  _does,_ because everyone is constantly berating him for the days he simply  _can't_ do anything, and he refuses to be useless. He needs to step up his game and  _do_ something, because all he's been is a hindrance.

That  _stupid_ head.

He knows that everyone else is  _trying_ not to blame him for what happened, but it's pretty obvious that no one knows how to handle it. Thanos wasn't supposed to  _win._ He was supposed to be defeated, and the threat avoided like so many others. Like Ultron. Like the Attack of New—no, no, he's not going think about that one.

They're the Avengers.

Earth's Mightiest Heroes.

Ha.  _Hero?_ More like "Earth's Mightiest Failures"—but no, that's wrong, because the only person who  _didn't_ do their job properly was him. Thor has always been the drag in the team, and it's only becoming more obvious to him now. It's a painful realization that despite how much he claims to have been doing better these last few years on  _seeing_ things, he was still so ignorant to what a mess he was making.

He's the culture-idiot, the one that can't  _speak_ anymore, the one who  _didn't go for the head._

Brunnhilde and the remaining Asgardians arrive on Midgard six months from Thanos's attack, and Thor is more than happy to switch home bases. He knows he found solstice in the Avengers before, but now he has never felt more distant. More  _wrong._

Trillions.

Trillions because he didn't go for the head.

The Valkyrie greets him with a tight hug of relief. She's, and most others, haggardly thin, and Thor realizes that they didn't have nearly enough provisions to last them the journey here. None of the Grandmaster's ships had a hyperdrive, so they couldn't use the jump points. The Grandmaster's ships all have technology from at least four centuries ago, which is more of a claim to his age than anything he said.

Brunnhilde pulls back and stares him over, her frown growing. Thor has tried to pretend everything is normal, but it's been hard. He knows he hasn't eaten nearly enough, and he's trying to grow his hair out again, but all it's done so far is flop around the top of his head looking stupid.

She tilts her head a little.

Thor attempts to open his mouth to say something, but the now familiar strangling feeling of his vocal cords being  _stuck_  is present. He snaps his jaw shut and flicks his gaze across his citizens, taking in their tired appearances. His. The thought is horrifying. How can  _anyone_ trust him with life after the great bout of  _stupidity_ he had. Loki was right. He is not ready for the throne.

Even now.

It's been six years since his failed coronation, but it feels like centuries.

And he is still unprepared.

How—

_Why didn't he just go for the stupid head?_

Brunnhilde rests a hand on his shoulder and her lips thin, "Where's Lackey?"

A physical pain shoots through his chest, wrapping around his heart and tugging. It's severing. Painful. Thor stares at her, and now the words won't escape with grief. Loki is dead. Loki has been  _dead_ for six months now, and Thor could not even burn his body. Thanos took  _that_ from him, too.

A little strangled noise escapes him.

Brunnhilde's eyes widen and moisten a little, "Oh, Thor," she whispers and she releases a quiet breath, resting her forehead against his as tears begin to wet his cheeks. It's stupid, because he  _shouldn't_ grieve, because this is  _all his fault_ and everyone knows that now. He didn't take the stupid head, or go for the stupid arm, he didn't stop the Infinity Stones.

Someone is bound to explain to Brunnhilde, and then she'll hate him, too.

But she's—hugging him. Again. She's hugging him and Thor's body stiffens at the touch. It has been so long since he's been privy to something this gentle. With this much understanding. Everyone else has been so  _angry._ It's like a virus, slowly poisoning and killing them all.

"I'm so sorry," Brunnhilde whispers, "I'm so sorry."

Thor knows she won't be later, so he quietly revels in it now, even if he is ashamed of himself for doing so.

000o000

New Asgard is...good. For a little. It's a distraction. No one lifts a finger to help him when he goes to first the U.N. and then Norway pleading for land to build a new city. After a few weeks of trial and error, he manages to claim the land and dives into the projects, burying himself into helping everyone else.

He can do that.

He can be good.

The city takes a year to finish properly with only their hands, some tools, and what basic magic they have remaining. Most of the sedirmasters stayed behind on the  _Statesmen_ to help fight against Thanos, and no one except  _him (why did it have to be him? Anyone else would have been a better choice)_ walked away. Thor tries to write down as much of their history as he can, scribbling it down in a thick book so no one is forgotten, but knows that it's hopeless.

It isn't even their  _real_ history.

Not the one with his older sister.

No one explained that to him, because no one who  _knew_ it is alive, and no one else can remember her. He throws the project to the side and tries to find  _something,_ but it doesn't help.

"You're running yourself ragged," Brunnhilde tells him angrily one day after another argument between them, "get some rest before you kill yourself."

Thor scowls at her.

He's already dead.

Has been for nearly two years now.

Since Loki's neck snapped.

Since he didn't go for the head.

She leaves, as has been normal recently, fuming. Thor  _tries_ to bury himself in ale, alcohol, and  _anything_ else that will dull his mind, but all it does is make him wretchedly ill the next day and leave him with a worse hangover. He's never liked the taste of alcohol in the first place, just drank it because it was expected of him on Asgard and he eventually grew numb to the taste. But Midgard's is different and Thor  _hates_ it.

He washes the taste from his mouth dozens of times, but it sticks to his gums and makes him grimace every time he tries to breathe deeply.

He doesn't touch another bottle after that.

Korg tries to get him animated, but after enough rude gestures from Thor towards him (his tongue has never worked properly since Thanos, and he can only get a few sparse words in every few months) gets the point across fine. Korg mostly leaves him alone after that. And he's perfectly okay with that.

If Thor rots, who will mourn? All he's done is made a mess of everything. (The head.  _Why_ did he not go for the head?). Thor delves into the work, into ruling, in order to keep himself occupied with something and throws on the mantle of Asgard's King and lets Thor drown.

No one's going to miss him anyway.

000o000

The smell of the coast is exactly as Bruce remembers: rotting fish. It's not one that he's overly fond of, but he knows that it will fade with enough breaths. He's never liked the ocean. Not much. His father was a fishermen and after what happened to his mother Bruce hasn't been able to look out at the waves with fondness.

Bruce slams the car door shut and flicks his gaze towards where Rocket is standing on the other side, face clenched a little in anxiety. Bruce can't say that he feels much different. He hasn't stepped foot onto New Asgard in over three years, and, to be honest, he hasn't really seen Thor in that long either. They've been adjusting to everything.

Surviving.

But he knows it's not much of an excuse. Natasha managed to keep in contact with almost everyone for the last five years, and Thor  _has_ a cell. He presses his lips together and quietly pleads with anyone listening that this doesn't go south quickly. Or, if it could be avoided, go south at  _all._

Rocket exhales sharply, "Elgh, this is really a step down from a golden city."

Bruce nods and shrugs a little, moving along the dock, "I think after everything that happened at Ragnarok that they're probably just happy to have a home at all." Bruce would. He knows that he was beyond grateful after New York when Tony bullied him into going back to Stark Tower with him. It was nice to have a place to sleep that wasn't dirt or a hard cot for the first time in several years.

Rocket tilts his head a little, debating with that.

Bruce stuffs his hands into his pockets and pushes his glasses up his nose with his shoulder. The first Asgardian that Bruce recognizes, but not the first they come across, is Brunnhilde, who's untangling a fishing net from a wooden container and cursing.

Bruce's shoulders slump with relief. "Angry Girl!" He greets, and Brunnhilde's head lifts a little with recognition. He knows that the nickname is more of a private one from Hulk to the Valkyrie, but it's the first thing that comes to mind when he sees her, even if Hulk has been dead for five years.

The Valkyrie's gaze flicks to Rocket, then meets his gaze. Her hands tighten a little, "Bruce," she says calmly, "what do you want?"

Bruce's lips tilt down a little. He's kept better contact with Brunnhilde than Thor, admittedly, but she's usually a little more friendly. No, that's the not the right word because "Brunnhilde" and "friendly" shouldn't be used the same paragraph, let alone sentence.

"We're here for Thor," Rocket answers when Bruce doesn't fast enough, "you know where he is?"

"What do you want from him?" Brunnhilde counters, her voice is hard.

Bruce blinks in surprise, admittedly a little thrown by the wariness she's presenting. "We just want to talk." Bruce says, unable to help as his hands raise in surrender. They need to get this done quickly, because Natasha is already on her way to Japan to drag Clint out of whatever pit he dug for himself these last few months since he left the Compound, and they're supposed to meet at the Compound tomorrow to go over the finite details and the test run in the next twelve hours.

Brunnhilde's lips thin tightly and she points behind her towards a large building. "He's in the Assembly Hall, probably talking with his curia regis about funding for another school." Bruce nods in thanks and takes a step forward with Rocket following close behind, but Brunnhilde grabs his bicep, her eyes narrowed, "Bruce,  _d_ _on't_ mention Thanos to him, or you and I will  _talk._ "

Bruce shares a look with Rocket.

They...they  _can't_ not if they want to achieve their goal of arriving here. He knows that Brunnhilde won't let them go until they agree with her, so he nods anyway. The lie makes his hands clench, but they  _need_ Thor so they can get this done.

"We won't." Bruce fibs. Brunnhilde stares at him for a moment more, and then releases him, murmuring something under her breath in Asgard's native tongue. Bruce ignores it, concluding it's probably nothing nice, moving instead towards the indicated area.

A little under twenty minutes and a small hike (the area has a lot more hills than Bruce thought at a first glance. Honestly, he thought it was just flat grasslands. That assumption was wrong) later, Bruce and Rocket are standing in front of what Brunnhilde dubbed the Assembly Hall.

Bruce draws in a deep breath.

This is Thor.

He knows Thor.

It won't be a problem to talk to him. So why is he so nervous?

Bruce steadies himself, and studies the emotion. It...doesn't have anything to do with Thor. It's about the fact that this project...this  _goal_ might not work, and he could be dragging his friend into a death trap. Time travel is shaky, and something that's supposed to remain in fiction. The possibility of it being  _real..._ it's staggering and hard to believe.

They can fix this.

They'll make it right.

He just needs to convince Thor the same.

Rocket shoves open the doors and steps inside the building, Bruce following quietly after. The room is large, but not unlike the rest of New Asgard. It's sparsely decorated, and the rafters are visible on the ceiling as lose bulbs dangle from them. The room smells strongly of freshly cut pine, and Bruce is a little surprised by that, given that it's been at least three years since this was built.

There's three long table setup in various positions across the room, but all are empty save one. A group of what Bruce assumes are Asgardians are talking quietly and Bruce sees Thor at the head. Relief immediately washes through him.

Good.

He's here.

He and Rocket move forward. One of the women at the table is talking and as they approach, she trails off and comes to a stop, all heads turning to look at them. Bruce flicks his gaze towards Thor and his eyes widen a little, his breath catching in his chest.

Thor looks...he looks  _awful._ His hair has grown back to his shoulders, and it's tied behind his head, but stray pieces frame his thin face and shadowed eye. Bruce  _knows_ that he lost his eye because of his sister, but the fact of it hadn't been so harsh until he sees the eye-patch. Briefly, he wonders where the electronic eye Rocket gave him went, and then decides it isn't relevant.

Thor's lacking  _any_ facial hair whatsoever, and he's dressed in a thick long sleeve that covers to the tips of his fingers. The first doctrinal instinct in him insists that Thor needs to rest, because he looks like he's going to topple over. The frontal part of his mind says it has to wait. They need Thor  _now,_ and basic necessities like sleep can come later or on the plane.

Bruce clears his throat a little awkwardly, and then realizes that he has no idea what to say. Does he ask to speak with Thor alone? He's never...never actually dealt with Thor's royal status before. There was the brief time on the  _Statesmen,_ but beyond that...nothing. Not after New York, not after Ultron, not after Malkeith tried to attack, Thor has just always been  _Thor,_ and that was that.

The other Asgardians stare at them expectantly.

Rocket climbs onto the table, "Listen scary looking Asgard people, we need to talk to Thor. Without an audience. There's a few trillion lives at stake here."

The Asgardian officials (what was it that Brunnhilde called them? Cream Ragu? No. That's dumb, and not even Asgardian) all look towards their king (king, Thor is a  _king)_ and Thor appears to hesitate before he gives a slow nod.

"We'll finish this later, I presume?" Someone asks and Thor gives another silent nod as the Asgardians rise to their feet and begin to move towards the door. When it's closed all the way, and the people emptied, Bruce takes several more steps forward so he doesn't have to speak as loudly.

Rocket walks across the table.

Thor lifts his eyes lifelessly to them and raises his eyebrows in question. Why isn't he talking to them? Bruce knows that Thor isn't one for silence. At least, from what he's seen personally.

"Listen, Thor," Bruce starts quietly, "we—uh—we think we found a way to deal with Thanos."

Thor's expression tightens, and his shoulders tense. It's then that Bruce realizes how bony Thor's fingers are. Has he been taking care of himself at  _all_ these past few years? Stop it. There are more pressing things to worry over.

Thor's gaze flicks down.

Rocket shares a glance with him, "Sparkly-Butt, we aren't joking. We  _really_ have a solution."

Thor's shoulders are so tight that it must be painful. He looks up at them, and his lips part. He swallows twice and his eye flicks towards the ceiling with irritation before he manages to get out in a croak that Bruce hardly recognizes: "No. I-I broke the solution."

What?

When?

Bruce's eyebrows meet with confusion. Rocket snorts, "Unless you somehow managed to stop time, no, you didn't."

Thor looks up at them, squinting with confusion. "W-w-what?"

Bruce gives a tight smile, "Tony figured out time travel, we're going to try and collect the stones from the past and use it to bring everyone back. Like the original plan from a few years ago."

Thor's eye is wide.

"But we need your help," Bruce admits quietly, "we're trying to get everyone together before we get them. What do you say? You in?"

Thor gives a slow shaky nod, "I-I-I won't-won't mess this one up, I swear."

Bruce frowns, and stuffs glasses up the bridge of his nose, "You didn't the first time."

Thor only grimaces in response.

000o000

The test run is a startling success, and the baseball glove that Clint managed to take back with him is waved around by Tony in enthusiasm. "It worked," he repeats as if in a daze, "it  _worked."_

They gather in the briefing room, and Bruce slumps onto the couch beside Natasha, staring at Tony as he explains his theory about the Stones. Four of the six Stones touched Earth before Thanos even got here. Bruce had  _no idea._ He new about the Tesseract, the Mind Stone, and the Time Stone, yes, but the Aether being the Reality Stone hadn't even clicked yet.

The Stones...they almost made this personal. They gathered here first, and then Earth was the epicenter of Thanos's mass slaughter. What time to grab them from is a mad scramble, and more ideas are tossed then actually contemplated.

"Thor, if you get the Reality Stone—" Steve starts, and Bruce sees Thor shake his head, rubbing his thumb over his opposing palm. He hasn't said anything since this whole thing began, but he didn't speak when they were on the plane.

Bruce is trying to be patient with it.

Everyone deals with grief differently, maybe this is just Thor's. ( _But it's been five years, and the worst sting of the death should be over now)._

Steve's brow furrows a little, but he doesn't push.

More ideas are tossed before, nearly ten minutes later after they've all shifted positions before Tony sits up abruptly, "Wait. If you time it right, three of the Stones are in New York at the same time. 2012. After Loki's attack."

Yes—oh, man, that's right. Easy prey.  _Three_ Stones. That's the goldmine. If they could get all the Stones together at once that wasn't with Thanos, that would be optimal, but they can't.

Bruce's fingers snap and he nods, "Yes. The Mind Stone was in the scepter, and Strange had the Time Stone, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had the Tesseract, so—"

"No." Thor says, and all them turn towards him. Thor hasn't said a word since this began and his deep, accented voice is startling to hear after so long of quiet. Thor has shifted, a little, but hunches as their collective stare turns towards him.

Thor clears his throat and shakes his head. "No," he repeats, "I'm—I'm  _only_ going to help you if you let  _me_ collect the Tesseract—and not from 2012."

Bruce's brow meets, and he clenches his fists a little in frustration. There is convenience with this option, and Thor's stubbornness is going to waste time and energy they can't spare. Not now. Tony makes a noise in this throat. "What do you suggest, then, Point Break? We're trying  _not_  to stretch our resources here."

Thor's hands dig into the clothing at his knees, and he licks his lips twice before he answers: "Just send me."

"What?" Steve asks, his eyebrows lowering.

"Send me. Just me." Thor answers, fingers running over each other, "I can get it."

"You—?" Tony starts, sounding a little dubious.

"I know that you don't trust me to do something right," Thor says, his voice has gained a sharper edge, "but I can  _get_ the Tesseract."

There's an uncomfortable silence at that, and Bruce feels an uncomfortable guilt settle in his stomach as no one tries to fight Thor. It's not that they  _don't_ trust him, they do, he knows they do, it's just—Thor can become clouded with emotion, and if he'd just killed Thanos properly the first time, none of this crap would have happened.

They wouldn't have waded through the ashes of the dead for five years.

There wouldn't be the monument set up in New York (every State), set in the building dedicated to those lost in Loki's invasion. Thor just...it's not that they don't trust him. They...he's only making this worse, isn't he?

The tic in Nebula's jaw lessons a little, "Where is the Space Stone when you want to get it?"

Thor flinches a little, and looks towards his hands. "I-I-I...I just want…" he looks up at them, "on the  _Statesmen._ During the attack."

Bruce nearly rears back from him. Why the  _heck_ would he choose  _then_ of all times!?

"Are you crazy?" Tony demands, shifting his weight, his voice thick with disbelief. "Thanos is  _literally_ right there at that time."

"So is Loki," Thor blurts out, and Bruce's shoulders slump a little.  _Oh._ They silent.

No one has looks certain how to address this. How can they? Thor has always...he's always been fond of Loki in a way that none of them have understood. Not really. Loki is a murderous megalomaniacal egotistic beyond all hope. Yeah, he's heard stories of how Loki helped saved Asgard, but he didn't see it, and he's well aware that Asgard loves to stretch their tales.

He has no idea why Thor would want to see his sibling. Especially not there. From what Brunnhilde's told him, it's where Loki died. Bruce doesn't know any other details beyond that. Thor hasn't shared it with him—but still, why would Thor want to see his death again?

Steve's shaking his head, and Bruce looks up to see why. "No. I'm sorry Thor, but we can't comprise the lives to trillions just so you can get a glimpse of Loki—"

"That's not what it is." Thor's voice is low and Bruce can suddenly taste ozone in the air. He shifts back from Thor, wary. "I want to go back, and take Loki with me."

Wait.

 _What_?

Is he  _crazy?_

No. He can't do that.  _No._

The room is so still, a dropped pin could echo. Bruce's jaw clicks. No. Bruce isn't— _no._ Thor is being stupid—his grief is blinding him, again, and that worked so well with Thanos and—

Thor's hands wring with anxiety. "I—"

"No."

"Thor, we can't deal with him and Thanos—"

"Point Break, this is—"

"Don't—"

Thor rises to his feet, bony hands fisted. "The  _only_ way that I'm going to help you is if you let me bring my brother back with me."

Bruce bites sharply at his gums.

This is insane.

There is no way that they can  _consider_ doing this. Loki doesn't matter that much.

Silence stretches between them for nearly a minute. Steve's jaw clenches and he blows out a breath. "Fine.  _Fine._ Thor will take the Tesseract, and the rest of us will split into three teams."

Thor visibly slumps with relief and something glimmers in his eye. Hope. Guilt settles in his stomach a little when he realizes how much Thor is relying on this. But Thor isn't the only person to have lost someone, and they have to keep that in mind.

No one tries to bring it up again, but how to get the Reality Stone/Aether is a mess. Only Thor knows what it  _looks_ like, and he's the only person who knows where it is. In Asgard's palace or otherwise.

But Thor is adamant, and no amount of fighting is going to change that.

"Fine. Thor will have to take two trips." Tony concludes. Thor doesn't look too excited over that, but doesn't fight anyone.

"We don't have enough pym particles—" Scott starts to argue.

"We'll just find some in New York or something," Tony counters, running a hand through his ragged hair "because none of us can get the stupid Aether otherwise."

They settle a little. But it isn't much.

This whole thing is stupid. Why can't Thor see that? Bringing Loki back is only causing more problems, and they  _need_ to focus on now. On the trillions lost, not just one.

Especially not  _him._

This is so dumb.

But nonetheless six hours and a few words from Steve later, Bruce is standing at the keyboard and typing in the coordinates. And the Avengers are gone.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Before the end of May, probably. I'm a bit of a mess at the mo', so we'll see. :)
> 
> Please leave any thoughts/comments/suggestions you have! :)
> 
> *Note: I've got a lot of people asking "Why doesn't Thor go for an earlier time with the Tesseract and Loki?" and best explanation besides, well, plot stuff for later: Any earlier time, like 2012 or 2011 would NOT have the bond that Loki and Thor have created through the shared experiences between the first Thor and Ragnarok (ergo: Loki wouldn't care to come with him)--AND Thor is removing Loki COMPLETELY from that time line. He isn't taking him back when they're done, therefore, people would notice it and he'd eventually corrupt his time line and create a lot of problems. I'm going to say that time travel works more like it does in Harry Potter, where the events of what happened have ALREADY (sorry for so many caps, guys, there isn't italics in notes :)) happened before, so Thor taking Loki is what happened before. So yeah. He can't take Loki from a different time because Loki comes back later, (and he would know this guys, Thor isn't an idiot, his parents probably made him study space time) and the Tesseract is right there. They can put the Tesseract back, but not Loki, so yep. Hopefully that makes sense. XD =)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Peaks out from behind a bush* whoa. Okay, I am honestly startled beyond belief at the response this story got. Like--whoa! Thank you guys so much! I appreciate it 3000! =D I just cannot wrap my mind around how many follows/favs this got in a week. I'm just-what!? THANK YOU! =)
> 
> I mean, honestly, I try to make a point to answer all the reviews that I receive, but after it got above 30 I realized I don't have the time. =D I WILL still be answering questions, though! Ask away and I'll reply, but otherwise, I'm probably going to have to let you guys know that I deeply appreciate the support, and if I could I would answer, but we'll just leave it at this.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Okay. Sorry, this chapter probably would have been out sooner, but I got sick and have spent the last couple days hacking out my brains...which has been unpleasant. Honestly, I haven't slept for more than like two hours a night in four days. Whoop! Jubilant tired bunny. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own nothing!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Some violence/gore, and general low self-esteem.

* * *

 

The sensation of being torn through time isn't quite as smooth as he was expecting, but that's likely because he was surmising it to feel like the Bifrost. But the Bifrost has been modified and perfected over multiple millennia, and this...hasn't. Not yet (and it shouldn't when they're done, anyway). It's like being dragged by a rope tied around his waist; his chest threatens to collapse despite suit surrounding his skin, and it promises to flatten anything else into a small pimple.

Thor imagines this is what getting thrown through a black hole would feel like. (And isn't that what Tony  _did_ in the first place? A black hole of space time, everything that—)

It isn't pleasant.

And, it's because of this, that when his feet hit solid ground, Thor doesn't land on smoothly his feet ready to fight. Stormbreaker falls from his hands with a  _thunk_ and he collapses to his knees trying not to throw up. He  _does_ heave, but he doesn't expel anything. His hands wrap around his stomach over the white suit as he tries to apply pressure to alleviate the sense of  _wrong_ in his lungs.

He's gasping, and he knows that it's loud. He bites at the back of his hand, trying to find some sense of grounding. This is awful. Oh, Norns above, he  _does not_ want to do that again (but he has to finish his goal, and even if— _when—_ he does, he still has to go back for the Aether). He tastes blood and pulls his hand back, trying to ground himself.

Breathe.

Listen.

He's on solid ground, why is his body insisting that he's still falling?

Thor presses his hands against the rough grates, and his eyes widen as he recognizes them. He spent enough time during the assembled meetings of what remained of Asgard's nobility as they discussed the water shortage staring at the floor that he has it memorized to small details. He stumbles back, flicking his gaze up and a dull horror and relief washes through him as the walls meet his gaze.

The  _Statesmen._

He's  _on the Statesmen._

Tony's calculations worked.

He's here.

Five years ago.

He's  _here._

This shouldn't be possible, but it is. He knows that it's theoretical, he wouldn't have agreed unless he  _knew_ that there was a small chance of it working. Thor was fascinated by Asgard's own form of astrophysics, it was one of the reasons that he and Jane—

Enough. He needs to focus.

Unsteadily, Thor manages to make it to his feet and wraps his hand around Stormbreaker, lifting it from the ground. The time—suit unfolds off of him, wrapping itself neatly into the watch around his hand, and, not for the first time, Thor is grateful Tony invents with compaction in mind.

Thor glances around himself, trying to determine where on the ship he is. They were here for long enough that he gathered a rough idea of the layout of the ship, but it's been  _years_ since he stepped an actual foot here. Not just a phantom one in his dreams. He can't immediately place himself, but the more seconds he lingers, the more aware he becomes of the thick smell of smoke, stale blood, and death.

His stomach clenches, and he exhales sharply. No. He didn't—he thought that Bruce would put him on the  _Statesmen_ before the attack. Before or even  _after_ Than— _he_ got here. He didn't think, didn't even bother to wonder what would happen if he was  _here_ at the same time as the Mad Titan. That wasn't—he is a fool.

He has  _always_ been a fool.  
He would have been happy with only the opportunity to burn Loki's body, to send him off to Valhalla  _properly_ because he left Loki on Svatherheim, and he knows that his younger brother lingered between life and death for hours. He could have been there when Loki woke up, before he went to Asgard and claimed the throne. Maybe... _maybe then…_

But now he is  _here_ at the same time as the Mad Titan, and he can't— _can't—_ he isn't ready. Norns, why did he think he could do this? Why did he think that he could  _actually_ talk to Loki? Why did he insist on this? It's stupid. He's been foolish, again, and it isn't going to solve anything beyond him getting someone else bathed in blood.

Why did he think he could even fix this?

Everything he touches he destroys.

Just—he should leave. Now. Back out of this before it all starts and—no. He can't do that. He's here for the Tesseract,  _at least,_ and the Avengers are relying on him to get that. Half the universe is. He can't back down because he's a coward. He has to fix this whole mess that  _he_ started in the first place. He'll put it back into the proper order, and then, maybe, the Avengers will finally forgive him for being so  _crass._

Thor presses his lips together, and takes in a deep breath.

He can do this.

It's just the Tesseract. He doesn't even have to talk to his younger brother ( _Loki. Alive. Here. Now. Alive)_  he'll just pick up the stupid cube and leave. Easier said than done.

Thor moves forward slowly, keeping his weight evenly balanced against the burned grates and notes with some disgust that he can see a trail of blood being dragged across the floor. He thinks that might be from the injured that Brunnhilde took with her when she escaped from the ship, but he's not sure. He, Loki, the handful of remaining Einherjar and the other sedirmasters stayed behind to distract the Mad Titan so their people could escape. Heimdall was supposed to go with them, but he didn't.

Loki was, too, but he and Heimdall dropped into the middle of the battle and didn't leave until they were both dead.

At least Thor knows  _why_ Loki stayed behind now. It wasn't out of any form of sentiment for  _him,_ it was because he had the Tesseract, and if he'd tried to run with Asgard, the Mad Titan would have tracked them down again and slaughtered the remainder of their people. Loki has always been more loyal than he to Asgard. (Thor's the one who's tried to dump the crown onto someone else for two years, he's the one who only wanted the title for the glory, he's the one who got  _every other member of the royal family murdered)._

Oh, Norns, he can't do this.

Thor forces himself forward another step.

The Tesseract.

The Avengers  _need_ the Tesseract. He can't let them down again. He can be good. He can be  _useful._

The smell of stale blood and death is getting thicker and it makes him want to gag. He's walked through plenty of fields of battle before, but none in quite as confined a space as this. The  _Statesmen_ was— _is?_ —not exactly substantial. The scent is weighted, though, a reminder of how much that is lost here.

How much dies.

Will you just— _focus._

He's not here to walk through memories, he's here to get the Tesseract (and Loki,  _Norns he can't talk to Loki, not after everything that happened_ ).

Thor manages to find his way towards the bridge by some miracle, and slowly, carefully, works his way deeper into the room. His breath keeps coming out strangled, and his grip around Stormbreaker's handle is tight enough that his fingers are starting to go numb. The tips feel raw.

He's going to be sick.

Focus.

The Tesseract.

He can't fail again.

He can make out the distant glow from the emergency lights lowly powered, but most of the light comes from the fires burning lowly around the broken bridge. This entire area is destroyed from the battle, and to be honest, Thor would be a liar to say he didn't expect anything different. Fighting with sedirmasters does that.

He's—here. He's  _actually_ here. The battle has already happened, or  _is_ happening. He can't pick out the sounds of blades against each other, so he's assuming the former. This must be before Loki offers the Tesseract to the Mad Titan for him  _(stupid, selfless Loki, always saving his butt when it mattered)._

His stomach coils a little.

Thanos

Here.

Now.

Alive.

Thor hadn't thought this through properly. He doesn't want to march up to the Titan (or anywhere  _near_ the Titan) and demand to speak with Loki privately. He knows that wouldn't go over well, and it  _wasn't_ what he did before. Thor didn't see himself at all during the attack, which means he must have found a way to get the Tesseract (and  _maybe, just maybe)_ Loki quietly.

He takes a step deeper into the room, ducking underneath a fallen beam from the ceiling, and stills as he sees the first fallen Asgardians. His soldiers. So many were women because sedir is rarely practiced by men. So many children on Asgard no longer have their mothers, or their fathers, sometimes both.

All because of this battle.

The scent of death is deep and ugly.

Thor drags himself forward a few more steps. He needs to find Loki, so he can get the stupid Tesseract and his brother.

Hopefully.

_Move._

He makes it about ten more steps forward before he spots a familiar group in the distance. It's one that he's seen so many times in his dreams since this day that their features are a harsh reminder that this is  _real._ This is  _actually_ happening.

"...brother's head, I assume you have a preference?" Thor freezes at the words, his free hand fisting with anxiety. His throat tightens and he flicks his gaze up towards the group as much as he dares, noticing with a dull, familiar ache of loss Loki's bloodied green cape amidst the Mad Titan's children. His brother is  _right there._

Why on the Norn's name did he have to get pulled into the battle right  _now?_

Loki's being held in place by the swords and other weapons aimed towards his head. It took most of the battle for them to get to here. Looking a little closer through vision that isn't blurred with tears of pain and blood, he notices that Loki's posture is slanted towards his left. He must be hiding a handful of broken ribs beneath his rigid posture, and, as he moves forward he spots the bruising on Loki's right hand.

Broken bones.

Loki had  _broken bones?_

Yes—that—no. No. Thor didn't feel anything like that when he collapsed on Loki's corpse after the Mad Titan and his children. If Loki's right side was damaged, why wouldn't he have felt that? But  _why else_ would he have gone after the Mad Titan with his left hand? It was something that bothered him for months after Loki's death.

Something that gave him a small hope that Loki would show up on his doorstep in New Asgard at some point in time and demand water and a place to sleep.

But months passed, then years, and Loki never reappeared.

But the battle—Thor can hardly recall distinct details on it anymore. Not the actual battle, he doesn't live through it anymore, only the deaths. Loki and Heimdall were fighting side by side until Midnight Proxima gutted the gatekeeper through. Which means that Heimdall is already dead or dying now.

Thor can't remember, and that pains him.

He should have this detailed—memorized—because he is the only one who knows what happened here, and he's only bothered to write it down once. Only after Brunnhilde bullied him into doing it. He has let the memories of what  _really_ happened here wane, and now he can't remember as well as he should.

He slowly, reluctantly, draws his gaze away from Loki's alive,  _breathing_ back to Thanos, and his muscles clench. He's still in his stupid golden armor, and Thor can see himself clutched by the scruff of his armor's collar a little off the ground. It's a little disorienting, but Loki's mascaraed at him often enough that it's not what he's focusing on.

Thanos is there.

The Tesseract is getting closer. He needs to move faster. But  _where_ is he going to get it in the first place? When is it not in Thanos's—oh.  _Oh!_ After Loki bargains for him, he drops the Tesseract and it's left unmanned for at least two minutes. Thor can grab it  _then,_ and— _and—_

Loki's by himself, then, too. He could talk to him. He could  _take_ him.

Thor scrambles through the debris softly, and quickly, trying to work his way behind Thanos, but freezes at the familiar voice: "Oh, I do. Kill away."

Loki.

_Loki._

His baritone sounds deeper than Thor remembers (he was forgetting what Loki's voice sounded like, he can't recall the noise of Loki's actual laughter, not just the one he uses for show anymore). His brother is  _right_ there. He's alive. He's  _alive._

Thor strains his neck to see through the standing bodies, and manages to catch a glimpse of his brother's profile. His chest seizes, and his fists clench with something he can't place. Pain. Relief. Happiness? Loki is  _right_ there.

He's alive—

( _But if you don't kick yourself into gear, you moran, he's not going to be for much longer.)_

Thor forces himself to get pay attention, and hears the sounds of his anguished cries. His mind pulses with a faint whisper of the phantom pain from the Stone crushed against his head, but he waves it off best he can.

His mind didn't stop being muddy and murky for  _hours_ after that.

"Alright,  _stop!"_

He staggers a little as he works through the debris, but he manages to get behind Thanos and his past self with relative ease. His hands fist tightly around Stormbreaker when he realizes that he can see Loki clearly (as clear as  _clear_ is through this terrible lighting) from this angle. His face is bruised from the fight, his lips split and white from the sweltering heat around them; Thor can see the cuts around his eyebrows from when one of Thanos's children (Norns, he can't recall details anymore) swiped at his face with their knives.

Loki's hiding his injuries well, but Thor can  _clearly_ see how he's favoring his left side now.

He looks so tired.

So bruised.

Have his cheekbones always jutted out that much, or had (has?) their limited food supply affected him in that area as well?

"We don't have the Tesseract," his past self spits, and Thor can hear the blood present in his voice. He can vaguely draw up memories of saying something along those lines, but it's faint. "It was destroyed on Asgard."

Loki's stance shifts a little, and Thor reads his body language with desperation. Loki is  _there._ He is  _right there._ Less than twenty feet from him, if he wanted, he could run, grab him, and leave. But he can't. He didn't  _before_ and he can't now. Whatever he does here never caught the attention of anyone on the ship because Thanos didn't bring it up later. Thor never even  _suspected_ that time was being warped during this entire debacle.

Besides, he  _knows_ that Loki dives back here for a second after he shoves him out of the way and drops the Tesseract. Then Hulk arrives and tries to fight the Mad Titan, and yes, alright, yes. Okay. He can wait here for a moment.

Loki's life is down to minutes now.

They were both so ignorant.

Thor flicks his gaze up as he sees the familiar light of the Tesseract appearing once more, and blinks a little with discomfort at how bright the light is. It's so blue. Had he even cared to notice how blue it was before?

"You really are the worst brother."

Thor winces, and closes his eyes tightly, exhaling slowly. His last words. His  _last_ words to his brother was  _that._ Of everything he could have said, of  _anything_  he could have reaffirmed or assured Loki of, the one he chose was  _that._

A clear, cutting edge to declare that Loki is a failure.

"I assure you brother...the sun will shine on us again," Loki promises, and Thor's body tenses as he prepares for the window. He needs to time this right. Loki's going to drop the Tesseract, and Thor needs to grab it, Loki, and then leave.

When Loki stops back here to do...whatever it is that he's doing for those few minutes, he'll have his chance. Hulk will be busy pounding the Mad Titan to a pulp anyway, and his children will be watching to make sure their father doesn't die. Loyalty that makes him sick.

Loki trades a few lines with the Mad Titan (even when staring death in the face, Loki will get the last word in, stupid silvertongue) and Hulk tackles Thanos forward. Loki drops the Tesseract and dives towards his past self, shoving Thor out of the way in a roll and Thor realizes that, from an outside perspective, Loki was careful to keep his head from ramming against the ground by padding it with his hand. Likely to stop the flaring headache from getting worse.

They're so close.

Loki.

Alive.

He didn't—

Focus.

His past self groans and rolls a little, shaking his head as if dizzy and looks towards Loki, who is gripping his right side and trying not to be obvious about it. How did he  _not_ notice the broken bones before? His past self shakes his head a little with annoyance and stumbles into a semi-upright position, and, without another word ( _why didn't he say something?)_  turns to pick up the stray piece of piping and vanishes from Thor's view.

Loki immediately crumples, a openly pained look crossing over his face, and he presses his hand against his chest.

Thor stares.

Move.

He can't.

_Move._

Loki is right there, and all he's going to do is mess this up again. What if Loki doesn't even  _want_ to come with him? What if their relationship is so terrible that Thor will try to speak to him and Loki will hate him for it? The  _last_ words he said to his sibling was a reaffirmation that Loki isn't enough and he'd  _meant it._ At the time. Now he wants to strangle his past self for being so stupid.

He knows that here, five years ago, he was trying, but he wasn't trying  _hard_ enough. Not enough that Loki thought he could reveal the Tesseract to him. Not enough that he would  _trust_  him with  _that_ secret. When they were younger, they wouldn't have kept something so messy hidden.

Move.

His feet are stumbling forward before he can really process it, as if he's been pushed by an invisible hand, and Loki doesn't quite jump, but he does jolt as he looks back at him, dagger lifted towards him with his left hand. His brow immediately clouds with confusion and the expression is so familiar that Thor wants to weep.

They don't have the time.

Loki is alive.

Loki is breathing, and pointing weapons at him, but  _alive._

Thor crosses the distance between them, and rests his hands on Loki's shoulders. His brother's bones are still jutting out beneath the armor, but it's heavy. It's  _real._ He isn't dreaming this, and maybe if he is, he'd be perfectly content to stay here. Loki.

Alive.

Here.

Thor is  _touching_ him again.

Loki's lips are thinned in both puzzlement and pain, and Thor abruptly remembers the broken ribs. He draws his hands back. "Loki," Thor whispers, and the word sounds so strange to fall from his lips and know that someone will respond to it.

Time. They don't have  _time._

"Thor, what—?" Loki starts in a hushed whisper, and Thor almost wants to rear back with surprise. Loki spoke to  _him._ Not to his past self, but  _him._

"No," Thor interrupts, "no time. Listen carefully, I'm here to save you."

Loki makes a little head shake of confusion and disagreement. It is so familiar. It is so  _him._ Norns, Thor has missed him. How does he explain this in so little time? They have a minute at the max, and Thor has already wasted fifteen seconds. "I know what you're about to do," Thor blurts, and how  _wonderful_ those words feel to come off his tongue.

Loki has forever been a mystery, his next action almost impossible to determine.

He's always been so blank.

And Thor never learned how to read it effectively.

Loki stares at him, his eyes narrowing a little, and Thor can see him sweeping his gaze across his frame. Finding differences between his past self and now. Loki is going to get paranoid and refuse to believe him if Thor doesn't act quickly. Doesn't rectify this.

"Please," Thor whispers, hating how stupid and pathetic his voice sounds, "I need you."

He nearly slams a hand over his mouth.

So  _childish._

Loki's fingers rub against his chest a little, but Thor realizes with a dull pang that he's straightened his posture again. Refusing to show weakness. "Thor, I could have  _sworn_ —" Both of them turn their heads as a loud crash rings up behind them and Thor sees Hulk getting thrown by Thanos. Then himself bringing up the pipe to hit the Titan with.

Loki's entire body stills.

Thor squeezes his eyes shut.

_Please, please, please._

_Please take me seriously._

_Please_ want  _to come with me._

Thor peels his eyes apart with some effort and sees that Loki is staring at him. It isn't open gawking, instead it's hardened; angry, and Thor has a second to realize that Loki's going to move before his brother leaps at him. Both of them go down hard, and Loki brings his left hand up to slit his throat as Stormbreaker slips from his fingers. Honed reflexes from hundred of years of battle are the only thing that keeps him moving fast enough to stop it.

He jerks out of the way and slams a fist against Loki's forearm, causing his younger brother's hand to twitch, loosening grip enough that Thor manages to wiggle the weapon free from his grip, shoving Loki off of him.

Loki doesn't believe him.

Oh, Norns, he's made a mess of this. A mess and mess and mess. He needs to get the Tesseract and get out of here before he makes it worse.

He outstretches his hand for Stormbreaker, but Loki slams into him again, shoving him face first into the cold floor of the  _Statesmen._ Thor attempts to worm from the grip, but Loki's hand, glowing with raw, white energy lifts to his face. He can feel the buzz of heat and crisp ice against his skin and his only remaining eye _._

Thor stills.

"Give it up, Ebony," Loki's voice is a soft hiss, "you and I know how this will end."

_Ebony?_

"I don't—" Thor starts, confused, but Loki's hand lifts closer. Thor strains to move away before it burns him.

"Remove the glamour." Loki commands.

"Loki," Thor tries again, attempting to wiggle his elbow free enough that he can bring it up to ram against Loki's side, "stop.  _Stop._ I'm  _not_ Ebony Maw. Please, I'm your brother. From the future," words are falling from his mouth now, and he can't quite get them to stop: "When we younger, Mother had a favorite vase with wild animals on it that we broke, we didn't tell a soul. Heimdall knew, though, but he didn't let her get to cross with us. You took the throne from Odin. Mother was raised by witches after her father tried to hide her from the war between Asgard and Vanaheim, I don't...Loki  _please,_ I swear to you on my  _life_  that I'm not lying."

 _The hand. Take the hand away from his face before he loses_ that  _eye, too._

Thor can feel the edge of Loki's sedir touch against him, then draw back again and Loki staggers backwards, the offensive position slipping. Thor rolls onto his back, hands shaking with relief. He's not going to go blind, Loki—

_Loki._

He shoves himself into a sitting position, and sees Loki staring at him with uncharacteristically wide,  _believing_  eyes. He's hit with a wave of relief so overpowering he nearly collapses onto his back again. "You're  _really—"_

"Yes." Thor agrees.

"I—don't understand." Loki says, gnawing on his lower lip as his eyes rapidly flick back and forth as he thinks, and then his face loses a little of the remaining color. His green eyes lift to meet Thor's blue, "This goes poorly, doesn't it?"

Thor flinches.

"You're…" Thor can't finish it outloud. Strangled. In less than two minutes from now. Thor sees his past self get taken captive by Ebony Maw and tries not to flinch.

_They are running out of time._

Thor barely represses a curse, and struggles into a standing position. Loki meets him there, his stance still that lopsided mess, "We need to hurry, I'll explain everything when we return. Where is the Tesseract?"

Loki's gaze flicks towards the blue cube, lying among the rubble innocently. It has  _no idea_ the death and destruction it is about to be a part of. Thor moves forward rapidly and picks it up, his hand numbing a little. He clenches the glass tightly.

He looks back at Loki, and then stops.

Loki's stance has hardened.

He's not coming.

Thor wants to grab him by his shoulders and rattle him back and forth. Doesn't he understand what he's  _losing!?_ There is no round two. This is it. Thor can't come back here unless he's going to  _return_ the Tesseract. This is his  _one chance_ to fix everything.

"Loki,  _please,"_ Thor's voice is barely above a beg. He can't do this by himself anymore. He can't  _survive_ if Loki isn't doing the same.

Loki's gaze lifts to his own, "Brother, I can't leave him—you—here to die, you know how time works, Thor, you've already broken enough rules just by  _being_ here. You shouldn't have interfered."

No.

_No._

Thor barely represses a sob, and hates that he feels the need to weep in the first place. He's not a child anymore. He hasn't been for a long time. He feels ancient. "Loki, I swear, just—you  _die_ here." Thor blurts, and nearly kicks himself because he's making a mess of everything again. He  _shouldn't have said that._

Loki stills a little and breathes out a quiet "oh".

"I can still save you," Thor pleads, "please,  _please,_ let me save you, little brother."

Something in Loki's face softens, and his fingers twist. A doppelganger appears beside them, and Loki waves it forward towards the mess. Thor knows that Thanos picks up the Tesseract, soon perhaps  _now,_ and Thor can't see Loki die again, even if he knows  _now_ that it was all for show.

Show.

Thor watched Loki's neck  _snap_ and it was for  _show._

Thor grabs Loki's wrist before his younger brother can disagree again, and wrangles on the spare watch that Tony gave him, pressing down on the button; and then, keeping a firm grip on his brother's  _living, breathing_ hand, slams his hand on his own space-watch-whatever-Tony-started-to-call-it, ignoring the slight noise that Loki makes when he does so.

Both of them, and the  _stupid_ Tesseract are pulled forward in time a second later.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. Okay. Tiny chapter, sorry about that, but I had to cut it here. :)
> 
> I noticed that almost everyone who reviewed/commented mentioned that they were feeling frustrated/upset by the way that Endgame turned out--and guys, I get you 100%, but it's because of this that I have a little challenge: If you choose to comment, I would love it if you left something (not super detailed guys, this is the internet and privacy is a good thing) GOOD that happened to you the last week. I know that sounds a little counter productive, but we need some cheer, my stars! =) If you choose not to do so, I completely understand, but leave your thoughts anyway! I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> I'll go first on the challenge: I unexpectedly did really well on the exams I took last week. :)
> 
> Next chapter: Probably May 10th, 17th, or sometime between that. Until then, loves!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! Guys! Thank you so much for your responses! =) It's been so awesome to hear about all these good things in the midst of this past week! =) Thank you again!
> 
> I have treasured your comments! =)
> 
> Sorry, this would have been out sooner, but I finished the original draft of this chapter and then decided I hated it and ended up re-planning the entire story. =D
> 
> Disclaimer: I own it. It's all mine and I'm greedy and selfish, so not going to share. I also have my fingers crossed and am lying through my teeth. :)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Description of injury, some gore

* * *

 

The force of the pull through time is enough to offset him, but Steve doesn't nearly face-plant like he did earlier in New York. His senses still sputter with discomfort, and the strange tight itch is still prominent, but the desire to heave is little, and, after some effort, easily ignorable.

His boots touch the solid floor of the Avenger's Compound, and he exhales sharply in relief even as he stumbles.

It worked.

They returned back to  _their_ year without anything awful happening in the process of the jump. Steve has the Mind Stone, and Rocket Time, so they have been successful in their part of the mission. Home. They're  _home._

He can breathe properly again. There was a lingering sense in his mind as they remained in 2012 that would whisper  _you don't belong here,_  and it made him want to ram his head against the nearest wall as it only got stronger and stronger with every passing minute. But it's over now, they got Loki's scepter, they have the Time Stone. His part in the retrieval is completed.  _Breathe._

Steve switches the briefcase to his other hand, and shakes his wrist a little as numbing sensation strains his fingers. He knows that it's from the Mind Stone. They emit too much power to simply feel or act like normal rocks. Standing around Vision for to long would make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his entire body numb to most anything.

It's like a drug, and the worst part is, Steve  _likes_ it. At least, that's what the Stones  _insist_ to him. It's a call that he'd been ignoring for years—and that, admittedly, frightens him. He's not going to collect the Stones for what Thanos did. They're corrupted. There's something  _wrong_ with them. He's not going to gather them together to cause as much destruction and death that Thanos did.

He can't; even though they whisper lies to him.

He's lost too much to the Stones to  _want_ anything to do with them.

Maybe he's weak for it, but he doesn't even want to touch them after knowing they slaughtered trillions. This whole mission is to fix that, but if he can't even manhandle the Stones, they aren't going to get very far in it. And this  _has_ to succeed, because Steve doesn't know what he's going to do if it doesn't.

He can't move on.

He doesn't know  _how._

Tony releases a sharp breath and twists his time-watch to remove the white suit of armor into the watch as nano-tech. Steve's not really sure how it works, honestly, but most of Tony's inventions have been a little beyond him anyway. He's just glad that Tony succeeded in making the space suits, and that nothing went wrong in the jump.

He twists his time-watch as well, realizing then that when they arrived in New York, the suits were automatic in turning on and off. Hopefully this doesn't mean something terrible. Frankly, the fact that nothing exploded in Tony's workshop when he built this probably means that he didn't do as many tests as they should have.

And Steve doesn't blame him.

They found Scott a little under thirty-six hours ago. There hasn't been a lot of time for them to prepare for this adequately. Not to the extent that Steve likes to be, at least. He hates jumping into things without several plans of advance. If they'd been  _thinking_ straight when they went after Thanos, and not set on simply protecting Vision and stopping Thanos from doing anything bad—how  _little_ they knew of what he could do—then they would have been successful.

Maybe.

Steve hates to contemplate this, but his mind so often returns here.

Steve clenches the handle of the briefcase tighter, and tilts his head up as he sees the other Avengers jump from their time zones to the platform. Someone from the corner of his eye immediately topples to their hands and knees, but he doesn't glance in their direction as the powerful waves of the Infinity Stones smack into him.

The numbing is back at full force, but it's so powerful that Steve wants to be sick.

This reminds him of when he grabbed at the Gauntlet in and effort to stop Thanos and then—it's not helping anyone for his thoughts to be wandering this much.

_Get a grip, Rogers._

He gives his body a moment to adjust to the sensation and song of the Infinity Stones crying towards him, grounding himself to now as he focuses on his team. His eyes scan over everyone in a quick, desperate headcount. Tony, Scott, and Rocket were with him, so he knows that they're fine, but everyone else...Rhodes and Nebula are standing side by side with the Power Stone in the former's hands, Clint is holding the Soul, and he spots the blue light of the Tesseract clutched in Thor's hand before he really sees the Asgardian himself.

His stomach does something funny as he sees who Thor is squatting down beside.

The person who toppled wasn't Thor like Steve had first thought, it was  _Loki._

Thor really did it. He  _actually_ brought his sibling back with him into  _now_ and—Steve doesn't...he's not sure what to think about this. Loki is going to be a problem no matter what Thor insists, and Steve doesn't have a strong desire to fight off another alien invasion in the midst of trying to deal with the snap.

They need to retrieve the Vanished, and, well, who's to say that Loki won't side with Thanos and try to stop them? Steve doesn't know Loki. Not really. He's a wild card, yes, but he  _is_ a villain. Ex-villain? Steve heard from Bruce a few times—admittedly skeptically from the scientist's mouth—about how Loki  _supposedly_ helped save Asgard from Hela, but he's really not sure how much of that story he believes.

With everything that happened in New York, it's hard to see Loki wanting to play  _hero. (You're one to talk, Rogers. You chased after a villain_ you  _claim as a brother for years._ Bucky was different.  _How?_  It wasn't his decision, Loki was  _in_  his right mind _)._

Steve forces his gaze to pull away from the Asgardian siblings and realizes with a slight jolt that he didn't see Natasha's familiar fiery red hair among the group. He scans the gathering of Guardians and Avengers again before his stomach drops with horror as he once again doesn't spot the master assassin.

She's not here.

_She's not here._

_No. Steve can't—not her._ Please. Please. Please.

Steve feels himself visibly fidget before he turns to Clint, trying to keep his hands from shaking or releasing the scepter's case. "Clint," his voice is so much more horrified than he wanted in the open, "where's Nat?"

Clint's expression says everything. It's opened, gutted raw with agony, and it makes Steve's chest heave with the desire to scream. No. After  _all_ their  _other_ losses, why can't fate be merciful to them,  _once,_ and allow them this? Allow the Avengers to stay together? Natasha is the only thing that's kept everyone from falling apart these last five years. After everything and now she's— _no._ She can't— _not dead. Not dead. Not dead. Please, he can't—_

Tony's hand grips his shoulder suddenly, and it jars him from his rapidly descending thoughts.

"Clint," the multi-billionaire's voice sounds both exhausted and barely a contained shout.

"She's not coming back." Clint manages to grit between his teeth. "He took her. He took her and she's not—" his voice cracks. He turns his head away, refusing to meet their eyes, "she jumped so I wouldn't have to."

What?

What  _jumping?_

Steve doesn't understand! It's— _p_ _ull yourself together. You don't have time for this._

Steve exhales sharply, and digs his hand deeper around the metal hilt for the Mind Stone. Natasha's gone. She's gone and she's not coming back. They were supposed to see each other in a minute, and now Steve doesn't even know where her body is. Nebula refused to say, she was in charge of the coordinates, but she refused to give more than that.

Out of respect for her late sister's last wish, Steve was assuming, but now he wants to grab her by the shoulders and rattle her back and forth. The least they can do for Natasha is let her rest in peace, bury her  _in a coffin_ somewhere on Earth. He doesn't even know where she'd want to rest forever. Steve refused to talk about funerals after the one they held for the Vanished Avengers.

Dead.

Natasha is—

He has to be dreaming. He never really thought that anything could take Natasha from them. Now she's—"Alright," Steve's voice is deceptively level, he wants to  _scream,_ "we'll fix this. When  _we_ snap. We'll make it right."

He doesn't know if they can, but he refuses to give up so easily.

"Okay," Tony agrees as if trying to reaffirm what Steve said, "we can do that. If he killed half of everyone, we can bring back one person. It won't be a problem because— _what the—!?"_ Tony's entire posture seizes and Steve raises his shield in defense even though he doesn't know what the threat his. Adrenaline is pumping through his veins and he rapidly follows Tony's gaze to see it leveled on where Loki is still kneeling.

Thor's hand is gently resting on Loki's shoulder, but as the attention of the room shifts to them, Thor's gaze flicks away as his free hand strains for something, and Loki's eyes briefly close in what looks like exhaustion.

Now that Steve's really focusing, the younger Asgardian looks awful. His hair is a mess—Steve didn't even  _know_  it was naturally curly until today—and his entire posture seems...slanted. His face is a mess of cuts and bruises, but the lingering sense of tired is really what strikes Steve the most.

Even despite this, Loki looks less dead than the last time Steve saw him. He hadn't realized what a mess the Asgardian was on the Helicarrier until he compares the two images in his head.

"You actually did it," Tony's voice is toneless and flat, "I didn't think you were serious."

Neither did Steve, honestly. And if Thor wasn't  _serious,_ then he didn't...really...think that Thor would be successful. ( _How awful that is.)_ Thor is not a failure, and Steve doesn't blame him for the snap. He doesn't. He never did. But he—didn't think that Loki would agree, maybe. He didn't think that Thor would  _really_ drag his psychopathic brother back to 2023.

Thor's expression flickers with something Steve can't quite pinpoint at Tony's words. Anger, maybe, perhaps hurt, but Loki appears to draw himself together before rising to his feet in a fluid movement. His face is dissembled, and the slant of his posture is a lot less obvious.

Bruce has moved away from the controls, his stance wary.

Every eye is lingering on them, and Thor shrinks beneath the attention.

Loki smooths a messy piece of dark hair away from his face, and doesn't quite smile, "You're all looking well. Some new Midgardian health secret I should be aware of?"

Steve sees Nebula's hand go to her sword, and Scott visibly flinches. Tony takes a step forward, his hand shaking with anger. "No.  _No._ Don't you start, Psychopath—" Thor makes a noise in the back of his throat, "—don't you  _dare_ make this about you. We just lost a sister, and if you  _think_ that this is somehow about you,  _stick it."_

Loki draws back a little. "It wasn't my intention to stall you from your grief."

Tony smiles bitterly, "Right. You're empathetic like that."

Loki's head tilts a little as if debating that, "I would say it safe to assume, Stark, that  _you don't know me._ "

Tony snorts, "Because there's  _that_ much complexity." Loki smiles a little, and Steve nearly winces. If the Helicarrier has any experience they can go by, Loki's smiles don't mean anything pleasant. What was Thor  _thinking?_ This was an  _awful_ idea. Did he really expect that he could bring Loki here and it would somehow keep him tame? That it wouldn't  _cause_ more problems than solve them?

Their  _one_ goal is to return the Vanished, and if Loki gets in the way of that, Steve's not afraid to fight him. But until then, there's little need to be actively picking the battle out. "Tony," Steve rests a hand on his teammate's shoulder, and the multi-billionaire deflates visibly, but he's blinking rapidly. His eyes are wet. The anger is still there, but Steve can see the grief more prominent.

He can feel it in himself, too.

They need to focus.

They aren't going to get anything done by running in circles.

Loki's eyes rapidly flit across the room again as if trying to process everything, but it stills abruptly, and Steve lifts his shield a little more, bracing himself as he switches the scepter's case to his freehand.

What is he  _looking_ at?

Loki looks as though he's seen a ghost. His face has paled before it darkens.

"You—" Loki breathes in an exhale before he lifts his hands towards his chest and, in a sharp "x" looking shape, draws two daggers and leaps across the room. Every hand goes for a weapon, and Steve's shield and Tony's repulsors barely miss Loki's heels before the Asgardian jumps forward a little further and tackles Nebula to the floor.

"Nithing  _skrímsli_!" Loki hisses at her face.

What the—?

Do they  _know_ each other?

Nebula shoves him off, hand drawing one of her weapons as Loki slashes towards her face, managing to cut above her mechanic eye. Nebula cries out loudly before Loki draws her into a choke hold and lowers his dagger to gut her in the stomach. Clint grabs his wrist before he can accomplish the task, and Steve catches his shield, running towards the epicenter of the chaos.

Loki twists out of Clint's grip with startling ease and flicks a hand. Clint is thrown backwards several feet by some sort of force and lands hard on his back, skidding, and Steve sees the Soul Stone go flying somewhere. It's the least of his concerns. Bruce moves towards the archer, and the rest of them get closer to Nebula and Loki, but Steve doesn't know how to interfere without harming the Guardian.

_Curses!_

"Hey!" Rocket yells in anger as Nebula lowers her head and bites Loki's forearm.

Loki draws back his expression pitched with pain before Rocket fires and shoots him in the shoulder. Loki immediately jerks back as Thor makes a little noise, and Tony lifts out his repulsor rays, looking ready to fire Loki full of holes.

Steve grabs Tony's forearm to stop him.

Nebula scrambles away from Loki and lifts out her sword, pressing the tip against Loki's chin. The Asgardian is gripping at his injured shoulder tightly, but even as the sharp edge is placed against his neck, he doesn't seem awfully concerned. "Rot in Helheim," Loki hisses up at her.

Nebula huffs without mirth, unfazed, "You'll be there to join me. My father's been meaning to speak with you, Little King. He sends his regards."

Loki's face drains of color abruptly, but Steve's entire mind skids to a halt. What the  _heck_ is going on? Nebula and Loki know each other? Since when? Steve feels like it would have been brought up in a conversation before, and it  _wasn't_ so— _what—?_

Sends.

She said  _sends_ his regards.

Thanos has been dead for five years.

Thor grabs the woman's shoulder and drags her away from his brother, "Get off him," he demands harshly, wringing the weapon from Nebula's grip. She staggers back a step and her gaze is almost confused, as if she's never  _seen_ Thor before.

Thor stands in front of Loki, and Steve can taste ozone in the air.

Steve releases Tony's arm, "That's enough." He commands sharply, "Everyone agree not to shoot anyone else?" Rocket doesn't look guilty in the slightest. Blood is leaking through Loki's fingers where the hole is. "Someone explain, now," Steve demands, looking between the Guardian and Loki.

"She's a liar," Loki grits between his teeth, "yet you defend her as if she's important."

"She's my family, moron," Rocket growls, "touch her again and I won't miss in between your eyes."

Thor visibly flinches.

Steve's muscles lock.

Despite Loki's expression being one that could easily murder healthy verdure, Nebula doesn't shrink under it. "I don't know who you are," Nebula states blankly, but there's something desperate about her tone. Steve doesn't believe her. Not really. The loathing that's flashing between both their faces isn't something that can be pretend.

Loki scoffs loudly, "The Master would be disappointed in your performance, Dear Nebula; you're flaking." He knows her by name, though they were never introduced. These two have a  _history,_ and Steve doubts it has anything to do with making friendship bracelets.

"Shut up," Nebula commands harshly, hand straying towards her other sword, but Thor lifts the one he stole from her. Weapons raise around the room again. Loki clicks his tongue a little, and shifts to ease some of the pressure from his arm as Nebula grips the hilt tighter. " _Shut it!"_

"Stop!" Steve commands, trying to gain a small grasp of control, but it's hopeless. Everything is slipping between his hands like running water, and he doesn't know how to make that stop. This is a mess. If Thor hadn't brought Loki back then they'd be dismantling the casings for the Infinity Stones and maybe an  _hour_ from bringing everyone back.

Now?

Now Steve doesn't  _know_ and he  _hates_ it.

Nebula releases her sword hilt, "I'm not going to fight," she reassures— _thank you—_ lifting her hands a little and shifts until she's resting a hand on Thor's shoulder. Thor visibly tightens, "At ease," Nebula instructs. Thor's hand is still wrapped around the sword hilt, and Steve realizes for the first time that Thor doesn't have Stormbreaker with him.

Nebula isn't going to fight, she's going to handle this without bloodshed, and Steve has never respected her more for it. Steve's breath escapes him harshly.

Loki lurches forward, eyes narrowed, "Get your hands  _off of my brother!"_

Nebula doesn't, if anything, she tightens the grip as if trying to make a  _point._

"Alright," Rhodey commands, "let's just calm down before anyone gets incinerated, yeah?"

Loki ignores him entirely, and staggers to his knees a hand lifted even as he visibly sways, Steve's shield raises, wary, but nothing that warrants diving for cover happens. Loki clenches his fist, and it isn't until Nebula makes a strangled noise that what he's  _doing_ clicks. Nebula's feet are lifted from the earth and Loki's dragged her away from Thor in a choke hold.

"Stop—" Scott starts.

"What are you  _doing!?"_ Rocket demands.

"Reindeer Games—"

This feels too bizarre to be real. Steve's seen Star Wars—and frankly wasn't impressed—but the comparison between Darth Vader's frequent choke holds isn't lost to him. It's the first thing that pops into his head, honestly. The second? This has gone far enough and it needs to stop  _now._ Steve drops the shield and dives forward, tackling Loki to the ground of the platform again. He hears Nebula land with a thud behind them, but he's more focused on the dark-haired Asgardian.

Loki immediately struggles, but Steve grabs his hands and pulls them behind his back in a twisting motion, keeping a death grip on his forearms. He knows that he's bending Loki's wrists hard enough to snap them, but he can't bring himself to care. Loki hasn't even been here for five  _minutes_ and he's already almost killed someone and attacked others.

Steve's gaze briefly flicks up to find Clint, and sees that the archer is standing next to Bruce his bow lifted and loaded.

This was a terrible idea.

They need a detention cell and handcuffs at  _least._

Nebula's head smacks against the ground and Steve winces a little for her sake. The gold plate above her eye—the one that Loki dislodged when he swiped at her face with his daggers— _where did those go? Steve can't see them anywhere_ —slips out completely.

Rocket scrambles over to her, Tony a second behind and helps her into a sitting position, "You good?" Tony demands. Nebula's head lifts and Steve realizes that—unlike what he was thinking—the golden plate's removal didn't open a hole into a mess of circuits. It's silver plated and completely clean. Rocket's entire body freezes.

Loki struggles a little in his grip, and Steve draws his hands up his back a little more. A slight noise escapes the Asgardian, and Thor turns to him, opening his mouth as if to argue, but no sound comes out.

"...Well enough," Nebula grits her voice hoarse. She rubs at her forehead a little, staring at Tony with slightly wide eyes.

Rocket's gun raises towards her face and Steve hears the buzz as it powers up. Steve feels his face drain of color and frustration spark through him, again _;_ is anyone  _not_  going to try and kill Nebula today? Rocket and Nebula have been working together for more than five years, Steve would think that if they were going to kill each other, they'd already have done it.

"Whiskers, what—?" Tony starts.

"Who the heck are you, and what did you do with Nebula?" Rocket demands harshly at Nebula, finger straying towards the trigger, " _Where_  is my sister, flimflammer?"

Tony draws back suddenly, and Nebula's face drains of color. Steve nearly drops his hold on Loki.  _What?_ Nebula's—this...he doesn't understand. This  _isn't_ Nebula? How could it not be? Didn't Danvers mention that there's some sort of species that can shapeshift? Is  _this_ one of them? Carol said that she'd been gathering them for decades, though, and that they weren't evil.

Something to that extent, Steve wasn't paying as much attention as was probably nice.

The Maybe-Nebula stares at Rocket for a moment before she appears to gather herself, "What are you talking about?"

Rocket doesn't lower the weapon, "You're not  _my_ Nebula, idiot, a blind man could see that. So," he presses the tip of the weapon against Nebula's chest, where her heart, one of her few—from Steve's understanding—living organs, is, "let's try this one more time.  _Where_  is she?"

"Rocket, maybe—" Tony starts, but Rocket flicks his head up towards him, likely scowling.

Nebula grips the barrel of the gun, "You're being ridiculous."

"Yeah?" Rocket challenges, "What Stone did you and Rhodes just leave to collect?"

"I…" This appears to throw her, and her fists clench and something tight wraps around his stomach. Nebula's not here. Not  _their_ Nebula, which means that she must have been left behind.  _This_ woman is wearing the time-watch that Nebula should have across the back of her left hand. Someone  _stole her._

This wasn't supposed to happen.

None of this is going according to  _any_ semblance of a plan they had.

"My point exactly," Rocket growls, "I'd start explaining if I were you."

Not-Nebula's gaze flicks across them, but none of them shift to her defense. Apparently realizing that she has no allies or believers anymore, the woman tenses before she scrambles to her feet and then makes a dive towards where Steve dropped the Mind Stone's case nearly two minutes earlier. Maybe. He can't remember letting go of it.

Steve's muscles lurch and he releases Loki, jumping for his shield as Tony fires several blasts towards her. A loud yell escapes her, reassuring Steve that Tony's aim was true. He manages to grab the vibranium and balances the weight, throwing it towards the woman.

Not-Nebula catches the weapon and manages to get the locks on the scepter open, pulling it out.

Steve scrambles to stand beside Tony, all of them tense, but uncertain how to proceed. "Put the scepter down," Steve lifts his hands to try and calm the agitation, but Not-Nebula's gaze flicks away from him.

Her grip tightens. She looks prepared to bolt, but unwilling to turn her back to them. Steve can see the charred metal and smoking wires from where Tony hit her.

"Clint," Steve says breathlessly; the archer lifts his bow and Not-Nebula takes her chances. She turns and leaps from off the platform making a break for the exit. Multiple things happen at once in a blur Steve barley processes. Thor pitches the stolen sword catching her leg and it sends her tumbling forward as Bruce tackles her to the ground; Clint's explosive arrow tearing the scepter from Not-Nebula's grip.

Steve doesn't bother to linger, he scrambles off of the edge of the platform and joins Bruce on the ground floor, slamming his hands down on one of Not-Nebula's hands to keep her from moving. Scott joins him, Tony taking the other side as Rhodey grabs the scepter. Rocket levels a weapon towards Not-Nebula's face.

Clint unwinds a length of rope from an arrow, and, after Steve gives him an affirmative nod, grabs one of her wrists wrapping it with the cord and then takes the other. The woman struggles, but the knots are more than she can wiggle from, and Rocket shoots through the palm of her robotic hand when she tries to re-shape her hand into a knife.

Not-Nebula cries out in pain and then her head slumps with some defeat.

Steve scrambles back, exhausted and tries not to let it show so openly. He wants tear at his hair and scream, but he can't do that now. Not in front of the others. Steve bites sharply at his gums and exhales through his teeth.

Tony looks up at him, and Steve realizes that he's waiting for him to call it.

He doesn't know! How is he supposed to— _stop. Breathe. Think._ Do they send Not-Nebula up to General Ross and let him imprison her on the Raft? They're  _supposed_ to when they apprehend unfriendlies under law of the Accords, but Steve...doesn't...Not-Nebula is the only person who will know where Nebula  _is,_ and Steve refuses to leave her in the wrong time wherever she's been stuffed.

They're violating dozens of laws in the Accords already, anyway, just by  _trying_ to fix this via gathering the Infinity Stones, so does it really matter?

This is getting much more complicated than a simple point A to point B problem. Steve doesn't even know when they veered from the straight line. Directions. The Avengers are looking at him for directions and he needs to give them.

He forces himself from his stupor, "Hawkeye, Iron Man, War Machine, and Rocket, take her to a holding cell—" they don't even  _have_ one in Avengers Compound, they didn't in Avengers Tower either. They had S.H.I.E.L.D. with the Tower, and the U.S.'s Government since. This is their headquarters, but it's still their home, "—Me, Bruce, Scott, and Thor will—" Steve stops as he realizes that Thor didn't join them in the mad scramble off the platform.

He flicks his gaze back and sees that Thor is still on the platform beside Loki.

"—We'll stay back here and get the Stones ready to return the Vanished." Steve finishes after a second.

The Avengers nod, and Bruce backs up, taking Loki's scepter as Rhodey hands it to him before helping Clint grab Not-Nebula and drag her to her feet. Her expression is furious and something raw, but Tony lifts his weapons up, and beyond a little tilt up of her head, she doesn't say anything.

The four march her from the room. Steve knows that Tony will find some place to stick her until they can get this resolved. In the meantime…Steve closes his eyes for a brief second, trying to gather himself together. One problem  _maybe_ solved, who knows how many more to go. He doesn't even know where half the Infinity Stones ended up in the scramble.

He does know that they're still here. His senses are still heightened and a numbed. Steve rubs at the headache forming and opens his eyes, seeing Scott staring at him, his expression strangely confused. Maybe concerned, Steve's too tired to parse.

Bruce grips at the scepter tighter before he and Steve share a look. Steve gathers up the jumbled mess of his thoughts and shoves it to the side to focus on later. Now's not the time, nor the place. "Ant-Man, starting finding the Infinity Stones."

Scott nods and moves away from Steve, possibly to try and find the Soul Stone. He's pretty sure that it got thrown off the platform when Clint was thrown by Loki.

And— _great._

Loki.

Steve didn't even— _that's_ still a problem that he doesn't know how to approach. It's not ken, not exactly, but it's pretty close. Steve climbs onto the platform again and spots the Time Stone sitting in the middle innocently. It whispers towards him, mutters that Steve can't understand and it sounds more like a quiet susurrate.

He shakes his head to ignore it, and moves towards where Thor and Loki are.

Loki's face has lost color, giving him a cadaverous waxy look, and without Thor's hand pressed against his upper back, Steve has his doubts that Loki would be sitting upright. Steve's tongue tangles against the roof of mouth. Rocket  _shot_ Loki with one of those weird-lazer-like-guns. It had completely slipped Steve's mind, but it  _shouldn't_ have.

There's so much blood.

Loki's fingers are drenched in it as he presses against the shoulder, and Thor's aren't looking much better.

Loki's eyes are pinched shut, and Thor's mouth is rapidly moving, but Steve can't hear a sound actually leaving his throat. As Steve steps closer, Thor's catches his eye desperately. He's mouthing something and it takes Steve a second to figure out what it is:

_Help. Please. Help. Please. Please help._

This  _finally_ Steve snaps into attention. "Bruce!" He yells, and kneels down next to Loki, pulling the Asgardian's hands away from the wound. Loki's face twitches, and Thor grips the hand, tugging it away before Loki can attempt to touch the wound again.

Steve can't easily remove clothing to see it—Loki's wearing shoulder pads—but what he can spot isn't good. The blast went clean through Loki's left shoulder, likely hitting some artery or another and Steve's pretty sure that the only reason Loki isn't dead yet is because of Asgardian biology. Their hearts work differently than Earth's.

"Bruce!" Steve calls again, looking up at Thor. "We need to apply pressure, do you have anything we can use to help it clot?"

Thor's expression is helpless. Steve's gaze lingers a little longer than normal when he realizes that Thor still hasn't said anything. Shock, maybe? But that doesn't make much sense because he knows that Thor has seen battle wounds before. He's dressed plenty of Steve's. It's weird for him to be this quiet, anyway, so is something—

Bleeding wound, remember?

Bruce kneels down next to him, lips thinned before he swears under his breath. "Lay him down," Bruce directs, taking off his lab coat and bunching it. Thor starts to tilt Loki down, and Loki makes a noise in the back of his throat, his eyes snapping open.

Bruce pushes the coat against the wound, and Loki's right hand jerks up in pain, his left only twitching a little. Steve takes some relief in the sight. That means that Loki's hand, for now, isn't paralyzed.

"Thor," Loki gasps, and Thor grips Loki's right hand tighter.

Bruce looks back at him, "Keep pushing at this, we need to sterilize it stat. I grabbed some equipment before you guys left, push as I go grab that. FRIDAY, what are his vitals?"

He trades positions with Bruce, and his teammate scrambles off behind him to accomplish his task. "Temperature of 38.9 Celsius, BMP is...a mess, I'm not getting an average, his fingers are broken and he has six rib fractures." FRIDAY answers, "He's losing blood fast, Dr. Banner, the wound closed itself at the back from the heat, but the subclavian was hit."

Bruce swears again. Steve pauses a little, but resists the urge to draw back at answer and sees Thor's eyes briefly close from the corner of his eye.

"The ribs—is it coastal cartilage or vertebrosternal/false?" Bruce questions. Steve's not really sure what the difference is, but it seems significant.

"Coastal and vertebrosternal," FRIDAY avers.

"What's going on?" Scott questions, and Steve nearly jumps at the voice behind him. Scott. Scott is here. Honestly, he'd forgotten that the man was in the room. Steve twists to see him standing there, eyes lingering on Loki as his eyebrows meet.

Loki makes a little noise in the back of his throat, and Thor rubs at the back of Loki's palm.

"Loki was shot," Steve answers, his voice sounds more irritated than he meant it to.

Scott's eyes widen a little, "Oh, yeah, that did happen."

Steve abruptly becomes aware that Loki's eyes are lingering on him, and tries not to fidget. He pushes against the wound harder, and hears Bruce drop items next to them, stuffing something into Scott's hands, "Open that."

Loki's breaths are hisses and Steve can see any remaining color being drawn from his face. He's going into shock. Steve mentally curses, and looks back at Bruce, "He's going into shock," he calls.

Bruce scrambles forward and presses his hands against Loki's neck, his lips thinning as he reads the pulse. "Thor," he addresses, and the Asgardian lifts his head up, "talk to him, he's panicking and—Steve keep applying pressure. Lang, give me the water bottle."

Thor remains quiet, and Steve looks up at him, "Thor, this isn't a time for games."

Thor's mouth opens and he flicks his tongue several times, but there's still no sound. Steve's brow furrows with confusion. Did something happen when Thor went to get Loki? He was feet away from Thanos, and there  _is_ the possibility that…

Bruce releases a sharp breath, apparently catching onto the same thing he did, "Lang, get down here. Talk to him."

" _Me?"_ Scott repeats, voice raising a pitch, "But I'm—"

"Scott." Bruce's voice is void of humor. He flicks a hand as he cuts open a package of something. Scott moves forward slowly and squats down next to Loki's head.

"I'm...I really don't know what to say. I feel stupid," Scott runs a hand through his hair groaning, "fine, okay. Um, hi, you probably don't know who I am, but I'm Ant-Man. Actually, you probably don't know who that is either. I'm Scott, I was in prison when you invaded New York. I saw it on TV." Scott's expression flickers with embarrassment, "I don't know why I said that."

"Hmm. I'm...it...it..." Loki trails, and doesn't finish the thought out loud.

Encouraged, Scott begins to ramble anything that comes to his mind, mentioning twice that he's hungry before Bruce taps Steve's forearm, and Steve draws back pressure on the wound. Bruce pulls up the edge a little, and his lips tip down. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "It's clotted a little, I need to put in the stitches, Thor, help me remove the armor so I can—"

Loki's bloody left hand wraps around Bruce's forearm, and Steve's hands fist drawing up towards his chest in surprise. "Touch me again and...and I'll take that-the finger," Loki's squinting and looks dizzy. Blood loss, likely. What does Bruce plan to do about that? They don't have Loki's blood on hand. Can Thor donate? He knows that they're adopted siblings, but they're both Asgardian.

Thor grips Loki's other hand, and his younger sibling's head tilts towards him.

"Loki," Bruce's voice is calm and he isn't trying to writhe from the grip like Steve knows _he_  would be. "We're trying to help you. You need to let me look at it."

Loki laughs a little, but it's brittle, "I have my doubts."

"Why? Dude, we could have let you bleed out," Scott points out. Did he seriously just call Loki "dude"?

Loki blinks several times, and Steve realizes that the hand gripping Bruce's forearm is shaking a little. "You're working with  _her."_ Loki whispers, not seeming entirely present.

Steve grabs at the opportunity, "You know Nebula?"

Loki slowly sits up, and Thor catches him when he slips backwards. He's still gripping Bruce's arm. "I really wouldn't recommend that," Bruce warns, "you're not going to recover from this nearly as fast as you're thinking."

Loki ignores him entirely, turning to his brother visibly agitated, "Thor, what on  _Helheim—?"_

Thor shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut, but doesn't say anything. Loki's brow furrows a little, and Steve tries not to show how much this is unnerving him. What is wrong with Thor's voice? Did something happen? He was speaking fine before they left.

Steve shares a look with Bruce.

"Loki," Bruce calls gently, trying to garner the Asgardian's attention. Loki flinches releasing the scientist's hand. Bruce looks so  _calm_ and Steve doesn't understand how he can be. Steve wants to yell and throw something, but he's not a child anymore. "The wound isn't going to sterilize itself."

Steve's really not sure why they're pushing for this so hard. If Loki bleeds out, doesn't that solve one of their problems. He instantly gives himself a swift, hard mental kick. ( _Loki is Thor's brother. They aren't_ doing  _this for Loki, they're doing it for Thor)._ Loki shakes his head, and shifts away from them, "No, it will be fine. Stop fretting, I'll clean it myself. If you'll excuse me, my brother and I, I think, need to have a chat."

Thor can't  _talk._ How does Loki expect to hold a  _conversation?_

"I..." Steve starts to protest, but Thor catches his eye. He gives a slight shake of his head and slowly gets to his feet, helping Loki to his. Every pragmatic part of his brain  _demands_ that he drag Loki back to the floor so Bruce can clean the wound and stitch it, but he doesn't want to fight Thor. Scott makes a little noise, but Bruce's expression is blank.

His hands  _are_ clenched with frustration, though.

Everything still feels numb and dulled. He can't  _think_ straight anymore. Curse those  _stupid_ Stones. It's like being in the Helicarrier again with the scepter and the agitation that spiked his sense making  _stupid_ things fall from his mouth. Thor and Loki have already moved towards the edge of the platform when Steve manages to gather some of his sense together properly.

None of them, though Steve  _knows_ they should have, put up much of a fight as Thor and Loki hobble from the garage-turned-time-travel-center.

Steve manages to make it about five more seconds before the numbness to his senses and the desperate grasp of the Infinity Stones crying for him causes his stomach to heave. He pitches forward onto his hands and knees, and then promptly vomits.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, plot veered from canon now, haha. Honestly, guys, though, I personally do not bare a great amount of love for fix-its that literally portray the same movie (even though I hardly read fix-its), but another character is present. I want to keep the basics from Endgame, but the way they go about accomplishing things is going to be different, hopefully everyone's cool with that. :)
> 
> Okay, note about the Infinity Stones: I know that people in canon have held and interacted with Infinity Stones without much trouble, but I really think that that's almost...silly, I guess. Someone gets incinerated in Guardians of the Galaxy for touching one. In the first Avengers, the Mind Stone messes with everyone's heads by simply being in the room. Anyone who used the Time Stone in Dr. Strange went a little crazy (at least, that's what I'm pretty sure that Wong was implying), and there's a dozen more instances I could point out. I really think that being in the same room as one would be really disorienting, but being present with five? (They still don't have the Aether, yet) I'm pretty sure that it's going to mess with the senses: ergo: Steve throwing up. Anyway, haha, that's my two cents on that.
> 
> Next chapter: May 17, or May 24th, possibly sometime in between. Until then, I love you all! Hugs! =D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls forward slowly* I live, yes! I did not think I would make it to today. #Super long emotionally straining week.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own it not, fair ones.
> 
> Thank you so much for your support!
> 
> Also, shout out to a guest and Black Rose of Twilight, who mentioned in their reviews that their birthday was this week. I tried to get it out before, loves, but, uh, I had no time. ;) Happy birthday! =D (And to anyone else who's celebration of their names day was this week, happy birthday to you, too).
> 
> Did anyone else notice that Lila and Cooper's actors were a lot older than they should have been? Cooper's...I think eight or nine in AoU and Lila's four or five. IW takes place three years after, so Cooper should have been eleven or twelve, and Lila eight or nine. Personally, I think that Clint and Laura are in their late 30's early 40's in IW, and I think that Clint married Laura after Laura had a divorce from which Cooper (and possibly Lila) came. Anyway, haha.

* * *

 

Tony manages to locate an unoccupied office, probably via FRIDAY, and Clint and the others push Not-Nebula into the room. It's small without personal effects, but the bookshelf towards the left has a few random books. The pale blue color contrasts to the ugly carpet terribly, and the lighting, save the window behind the desk, is pathetic.

This is not a cell, and it's a stretch to say it will hold anyone.

Rhodes hands him a pair of handcuffs that Clint honestly has no idea where came from, but he's learned better than to ask over the years, and he shoves Not-Nebula into the chair behind the desk that Clint distantly notes has a holographic computer instead of a physical one, which is why it's empty. He mindfully cuts at the cord enough to free her flesh hand, and then handcuffs it to the back of the chair. He's not stupid, or arrogant enough to assume that Not-Nebula's robotic arm is going to remain beneath the cuff.

Even with the charred hole that Rocket shot into it.

As soon as Not-Nebula is secure, Rocket climbs onto the top of the sizable desk and glares at her, hand on his gun. "Let's get down to business." Rocket says with a smile that admittedly concerns him. "You start talking, and I won't shoot you again, how about that?"

Not-Nebula's eyes narrow heatedly, but her lips don't part to offer them any answers.

Helpful.

This is going to take some work.

Clint flicks his gaze beyond the impostor to check that the window behind the desk is latched. The glass is bulletproof, as with everything else on the outer walls of here, so Clint doesn't see an easy escape route there. Still, though, keeping a guard is the safest way to go about this until they can manage to find a better place to lock Not-Nebula into, or they can remove her completely.

Where did she even come from?

The sun is setting in the distance, Clint notes absently. It must be past eight PM, and he's mildly hungry. He and Nat left on their flight this morning and it didn't...didn't...he doesn't want to think about this. The memories are still sharp. Still harsh. Still raw.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stuff the memory of her fall away, but it's not being compliant.

A hand rests on his shoulder, and Clint nearly jumps a foot, his hand straying to grab at the knife on his belt, but he stops. It's just Tony.  _Calm down, Jumpy._ He's spent months running and working in the shadows and his senses are heightened again. It's just like any other routine S.H.I.E.L.D. mission, his body needs the adjustment period. ( _But you were never killing for revenge. It was because they needed to go for the safety of someone else. It was never revenge)._

Tony's eyebrows are meeting a little, and Clint realizes that his helmet has been removed. He's still not certain how the nano-tech works, but he admires it from afar and was humbled when Tony  _did_  try to explain after Clint crashed with him for a few months to take a break from the Compound.

He would have stayed with him, Morgan, and Pepper for longer, he thinks, but then the mess of Steve and Nat being held hostage by Japanese terrorists for those weeks arose, and he'd snapped, hunting down the entire colossal gang and murdering them one by one. The Avengers are the only family he has left, now, and he has to protect them.

He didn't protect Laura and his kids, but he can do better with the— _He can't do better. Not anymore. Nat's dead and it's his fault because he should have been the one to jump. Not her. Never her._

"You okay?" Tony's voice is quiet, and Clint snaps into attention despite it, lifting his head towards the source of the noise on instinct. Clint's hands fists by his side, and he breathes in the recycled air of the Compound deeply, giving a shaky nod. It's the air freshener that Nat was fond of, and refused to change after she found it. She always bullied anyone down from using anything else, and the reminder of her absence stings.

He was supposed to jump.

Why does his stupid partner have to be so selfless?

"I'm, uh, having a hard time seeing that, Birdbr—what the—!" Tony's head whips towards Not-Nebula and Rocket as Rocket takes a dive for her face. Before the raccoon can make contact, Rhodey grabs him around the torso and forcibly tears the animal away as he and Tony move forward. Rhodey holds the struggling animal spitting out an impressive vocabulary of curses as Nebula lifts her head a little. She seems unconcerned.

Tony folds his arms across his chest and levels Rocket with a hard stare. "Get out," he demands sharply. "You aren't helping." Clint doesn't know Nebula as well as the others, but Nat spoke fondly of her. (Apparently they'd sparred and Nat admired her form. Which means that Nebula fought dirty, and cheated just as much as Nat does). He doesn't have any desire to leave Nebula in 2014 than anyone else here.

Well, except maybe Not-Nebula, but Clint's not going to contemplate that. It's pointless.

"Are you crazy?" Rocket demands, "She took my sister, and there is no way in—"

"Language. Alright, easy," Rhodey demands, but his tone is soft, "breathe. We're going to find Nebula, alright? We're going to find her."

Rocket slumps in his grip abruptly, and Clint sees the barest edge of Not-Nebula's lip lift in a smirk from the corner of his eye. The desire to hit her arises in him, but he quells it. Doing so would serve no purpose, and he's...just not going to do that.

Clint forces himself to stay level. Grounded. "Go get some food," he instructs as evenly as he can to the Rhodey and Rocket, "it's been a long day for all of us."

He wishes he could start over. He'd refuse to let Nat go with him, and make a break for the edge the moment they stepped onto the planet whatever-it's-name-is. He'd jump, and no one else would have to die. Maybe he's selfish for this, but he's tired of being left behind; it aches to much.

Rhodey and Rocket exit the room a few seconds later, and Clint breathes out deeply, preparing himself. It's been a while since he was on this side of an interrogation, admittedly. Nat was always better at them, so he usually just let her—

She's dead.

She's dead and she's  _not_ coming back. Not unless the Soul Stone will release her, and he has his doubts. The red-faced man hadn't even known their names, but he'd seemed serious with his words. The only thing that threw him was the fact that red-face knew the names of their parents.

Natasha's birth name is  _Natalia._

His is  _Clinton._ It's why he'd scoffed at Nat's wide eyes. If red-face couldn't even know who they were, how was he supposed to determine their fate? How was he supposed to know about the Soul Stone? Ultimately, he did, though, even if he only knew them by the names they gave themselves.

He's scrambling again.

He  _needs_ to focus.

His one mission for right now is to get Nebula's location from Not-Nebula so they can wrangle together a rescue party, grab the Luphomoid by her ear and drag her back to the proper time, and then move on with their plan. Clint relaxes his fingers and tilts his head to make sure his hearing aids are secured properly, before he turns back to the table.

He exhales.

_Let the games begin._

Not-Nebula's gaze lifts lazily to him, but there's something haunted in her eyes that unsettles him. Nebula's carried the same shadows, but she rarely spoke of them, and never to him.

Clint rests his hands against the other end of the desk and holds the stare for nearly a minute before asking a bit loudly: "Would you like some water?"

Not-Nebula's eyes flicker a little, and she blinks as if confused. Her gaze flicks to the side for a second, "...What?" She questions.

"Would you like some water?" Clint repeats calmly, "You look tired."

Not-Nebula's eyes are wide. "I do not understand."

"What don't you understand?" Clint questions patiently, and sees Tony shift a little to his left. This isn't a good cop-bad cop mantra, and Tony has apparently picked up on that enough to stay quiet. Gaining information is about trust, and, though Thor has always been better at doing it intuitively, Clint isn't terrible at it.

Not-Nebula looks deeply unsettled now, "I do not understand why you are offering me water. I'm your enemy."

"But not immune from basic necessity," Clint points out, and then tilts his head down a little, "would you like some water?"

"I...yes," Not-Nebula admits, and Clint nods, turning to Tony.

"Will you go grab a bottle?"

Tony, having been privy to more than one of Clint's interrogations over the last decade, takes this in stride. He nods, "Yep, be right back," he says, and then strides from the room with purpose, closing it behind himself.

Clint turns back to Not-Nebula, his gaze lingering on her charred hand, "Do you need medical aid?"

She gives a slow shake of her head no, "It doesn't have pain receptors," she explains slowly, "I am fine."

"Good," Clint says sincerely. Putting the hand back together would be a hassle, and Clint doesn't want to deal with that. This technique requires a swift bond, and if she  _did_ need the attention, it would hinder that a little. "I'll see if I can get Tony to repair it soon," he assures, and Not-Nebula's gaze flicks around the room anxiously again.

"I...I do not...he is the one who just left." The statement sounds more like a question, and Clint nods to reassure her.

"Yeah, sorry," he shakes his head and strings together a false smile, "I'm Clint Barton," he knows that dropping the name is stupid, because Thor mentioned often that names have power, and the slight widening of Nebula's eyes seems to state she was raised on the same belief, "You're…"

"I am called Nebula," Not-Nebula answers, and Clint's brow furrows a little. So...it  _is_ Nebula...just  _not theirs._ He doubts that he can pull a year off her that will make sense (Clint has heard Thor try to explain Asgard's before, and that turned into a headache), but he does know—roughly—how old Nebula is. If he can get Not-Nebula's, then it's simple subtraction or addition from there to determine what year she actually came from.

They can guess for now, but they need to be sure.

"It's customary on Ea-M- _Terra_ to give your age when we greet each other, so, please forgive my manners. Clint Barton, 36."

Nebula's mouth parts, but suddenly it snaps shut and she looks up at him heatedly. "I know what you're doing."

Clint tilts his head at her, trying to settle the unease, "Talking with you?"

"This is an interrogation, and it isn't going to work," Nebula snaps, "I'm not stupid, I'm not going to crawl into your spider web."

Well. It got the basics down, and that's something. But now someone should babysit regardless on whether or not the interrogation was successful.

Clint's eyes tighten a fraction, but he refuses to relent. "You already did."

Nebula's living fist clenches, "My father taught me better than—"

"Your father's dead here," Clint counters harshly, "so what he says is irrelevant."

Nebula's head turns with anger, "You won't get anything from me. I'll die before I talk, Clint Barton," she turns to face him, something nasty in her expression, "I want the water so I can use it to clean up the mess your death will make. I'll slaughter everyone here for my father, and all you'll be remembered as is a pile of rotting corpses when I'm through with you. It's inevitable."

Clint forces himself to remain calm. He's the only one with weapons in the room. She is chained to a chair. If things get nasty, he knows where everything vital is that he can hit or poke at are.

He's safe.

And everyone else is safe because he's not going to let that happen. Clint forces his stance to outwardly relax and huffs a little, sitting down on one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk. "Yeah, let me know how that goes for you." He says, and lifts his feet to rest against the surface of the ebony wood.

He pulls out his phone, and sees Nebula's stance shift to fury, her jaw clicking.

_He is the only one with weapons._

He scrolls through his contacts until he finds Tony, and sends him a quick text: ' _Water no longer need. :)'_

Clint looks up at her, "Let me know if you want a book or something as we wait out your surrender," he lifts up his phone a little, "we're going to be here awhile, and I can assure you that these walls look exactly the same after ten minutes. No one else is dying today, Smurfy. Pout all you want."

Nebula's lips thin tightly with distaste, but she doesn't say anything in response.

Clint wasn't expecting one.

He steadies his breathing, and keeps a hand near one of the ten weapons on his person, bracing himself for the long wait.

000o000

They make it a few steps away from the closed door before Loki stumbles, nearly toppling to his knees. If it wasn't for Thor's hold on the younger, he's pretty sure that it would have been a face-plant. His lips thing tightly.

His brother is an idiot.

It's really the only thing he can think straight through a mess of tangled thoughts and emotions. No evidence has been presented to him within the last few minutes to prove otherwise, so Thor doesn't even feel guilty for stating it clearly in his mind. His younger brother is an utter  _stupe._

He was just  _shot,_ and his first thought—

Why is he even surprised?

This is Loki. Loki would get an limb severed and insist that it was nothing. So  _why—_? (Maybe after so much time apart, it's...he's forgotten what dealing with Loki's stubbornness is  _actually_  like).

Thor adjusts accordingly to hold his younger sibling upright, and Loki's lips thin a little.

His shoulder is still leaking blood lazily, and Thor wishes he'd had the foresight to grab bandages or gauze— _something_ to stem the bleeding, but it hadn't even occurred to him. ( _Stupid, he's served in battle before)._  Loki stares at the long hallway and blows out a slight breath. "I have no idea where we are." Loki admits, voice a little slurred. His head is tilting towards him, as if the world is lopsided.

Loki needs to lay down and receive  _actual_ medical attention.

This was stupid.

Why on the Norn's name did he help Loki to his feet?

Thor's gaze flickers towards him with confusion as he processes the words. Loki doesn't—? But, no, he wouldn't, would he? Loki didn't visit Midgard between his attack (that Thor knows of) and Ragnarok. He doesn't know about the Avengers Compound—well, he  _might_ , but he hasn't stepped foot in it before.

Thor opens his mouth to answer, but nothing save a little noise in the back of his throat comes out. He snaps his jaw shut and turns his head away from Loki sharply, humiliated. Curse his inane  _voice!_

He can feel Loki's gaze on his head, but Thor refuses to meet it, instead moving to grab the nearest door and shove it open. With one hand, he manages to elbow on the light, and then pushes the door closed with the edge of his foot, glancing around the space he's pulled them into.

It's familiar, and, as the shapes settle, Thor bites sharply at his inner gums. This is- _was_  Wanda's room. She was at the end of the corridor because she preferred being closer to exits for reasons Thor never really determined. He didn't know her well enough for that. His odd on and off visits between Ultron and Ragnarok didn't offer a great deal of time for anything but a basic acquaintance to perform between them.

Still, though, it feels strangely disrespectful to be in here.

Most of the items have been boxed and shoved into one corner and the furniture has blankets thrown over it. Thor can place this as the Witch's from the origami lamps and figures of the same art hanging from the ceiling. She was obsessed with it. She taught Thor how to make a swan, but the details have been lost to time for him.

Loki.

He needs to get Loki off of his feet.

Thor's gaze rapidly sweeps across the space before he grabs the chair in front of the desk and drags it out, lowering Loki onto it. His brother goes without a complaint and lips thinned tightly. This tells more about how terrible the wound actually is than any words could. Rocket...Rocket actually  _shot_ his sibling. For all his horror and fantasizes about violence that would occur if he  _were_ to bring Loki back to Midgard, Rocket  _shooting_ him had never even registered.

Nor Loki going after Nebula. (Not-Nebula? Whoever the woman is, she masked Nebula well enough that Loki attacked her for it). Honestly, Thor didn't even know they'd  _spoken,_ let alone knew each other. Not on good terms, if Loki's attempted assassination is anything, but— _Oh, Norns, Loki just tried to_ kill  _someone, and he had no reason to—_ Thor stiffly takes a seat on the desk he pulled the chair from.

_Breathe._

Thor studies his sibling, taking in his living features and trying to memorize it.

Loki's eyes are a little glazed, but he shakes his head and lifts it to meet Thor's stare. "I…" he squints, "I'm...Thor," his voice is careful, soft, "what on the  _Nine_ is going on?"

He...he didn't explain. He told Loki that he would, and between Not-Nebula and the injury, there wasn't much time. Still. Thor latches onto his tongue with his teeth and his face heats a little. He was more focused on Loki's fate as an individual, not what happened to everyone else. At that time, beyond the Tesseract, it wasn't important.

Thor clears his throat, trying to get his tongue to work properly, but it, per usual now, remains tangled.

His younger sibling is still staring at him.

Quiet settles between them for nearly a minute before Loki's head shakes a little, and a frown tips at the end of his lips. "Brother, you've barely said two words to me since the  _Statesmen,_ what on Tyr's severed hand are you trying to prove?"

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. If he knew what this  _was,_ he would find some way to fix it, but he doesn't understand, and doubts he ever will. It's like a curse, but without the hope of finding a cure. This is his now, it has been for five years, and it isn't going to go away.

Thor shrugs a little helplessly.

Loki's lips part and he leans forward as if to say something, and then hisses sharply, his right hand slamming against his ribs as discomfort flashes across his face. Thor's stomach churns, and he abruptly remembers the fractures that FRIDAY listed. Loki's ribs aren't broken per se, but they probably don't feel  _great,_ and—Thor forgot in between everything else. What if space-time-whatever-they're-calling-it-travel did something worse to the damage? Thor didn't even think of how it would effect injury.

What if being  _shot_ did?

_Rocket shot his sibling._

Loki hisses out a breath sharply as if trying to calm, and Thor leans forward to slide of the desk and assist, but Loki straightens abruptly, keeping a hand firmly pressed against his ribcage. Thor can see the discoloration and bruises on Loki's fingers from this angle. The skin around his eyes is pinched.

He looks  _awful._ Thor didn't walk away from the  _Statesmen_ unscathed, either, but that was  _years_ ago. It wasn't within the last half hour. What was he thinking? Loki needs a medic, and Thor can't be that. Not right now. Everything he learned under Madame Eir's hand and from the battlefield suddenly seems irrelevant without Asgard's supplies.

Loki closes his eyes tightly. "Thor, please, I don't have the patience for games."

No, Loki doesn't have the energy for them. He looks one second from toppling over and Thor tries to remember solid reasons for him to pull at on why he dragged his sibling out here. None in specific are coming to mind. It's mostly just a jumbled array of unconnected thoughts.

He should get Bruce. And—actually, he has no reason for  _not_ doing that. Thor makes a move to stand, but once he's on his feet, Loki grabs at his wrist to halt him.

"Brother," Loki's voice is desperate, "stop. Where are you going? I'm—" Loki cuts off abruptly, and Thor glances at him to see his green eyes wide and searching his face desperately. He's quiet before saying slowly: "If you mean to get a healer, please don't."

Thor shoots him an irritated look.

"I've had worse," Loki promises.  _How is that supposed to make him feel better? "_ Just...wait five minutes." Thor shifts with disagreement, and Loki must read it in his body language because he hastily adds: "We'll quid pro quo, yes? Answer me a few questions, and I'll agree to whatever medical treatment you concoct."

That's...better, but Thor can't  _agree_ to these terms because he physically can't fulfill them. His voice is...it's still a problem until the monster releases it for whatever period of time it deems fit. Usually, it's only when he's alone, which is cruel irony. Who is he going to talk to, then? Himself? Ramble into madness? (Admittedly, he's afraid that he's already done so).

Thor holds Loki's stare for a long few seconds before relenting and giving a slight nod. Something in Loki's stance loosens with relief, and he releases Thor's wrist. His hand was cold. Excessively more so than usual, and that worries him.

Maybe he should push for three minutes instead.

Thor leans against the desk, and folds his arms across his chest. Thor has been present in enough interrogations to know that this reminding him uncomfortably of one. "Brother," Loki starts with some trepidation, "I don't...what  _happened?"_ To much to explain in a five minute period, yet so little that he could.

Thor presses his lips together, closes his eyes, and tips his head back with frustration.

_Speak._

_Just—why is this so hard!?_

"Thor," Loki's voice is a shade more gentle, but Thor doesn't move from his position, "what happened to your voice? Did someone—no, I'm...being stupid."

Thor nearly startles. Loki is perceptive. He  _knows_ this. Why did he think he could keep this hidden? (Was he even trying? It's impossible to cover this, as shameful as it is).

"The Mas—the  _Titan_ , he didn't…" Loki trails for a second, and Thor's stomach twists with discomfort. He tilts his head forward to stare at Loki's face, quietly hoping his brother won't finish that thought out loud. Loki does: "Did he... _take_ your ability to articulate?"

 _What?_ How would Thanos even...that's ridiculous. It doesn't make sense in any way, shape, or form. Thor nearly laughs out loud at the suggestion, but maintains a straight face to the best of his ability.

Loki's waiting for an answer.

Thor shakes his head no.

Loki's stance slumps a little and he whispers a brief, bare worded prayer of thanks, "Good. We'll...Alright. Then...whatever this  _is,_  I assure you that we'll fix this later, but we...don't have the time right now." Loki trails a little, and rubs at his ribs.

No, Thor doesn't think so, either. Loki's face is losing any color it gained again, and Thor is very tempted to toss their deal to the side, throw the younger over his shoulder, and go find Bruce. He  _should_ do that. It's pragmatic.

"Nonetheless," Loki shifts a little, pushing down heavily on one of his fingers and his hand flexes with discomfort. He's setting the bones and trying to not be obvious about it. Thor decides not to point this out. "Just nod or shake your head," Loki instructs, and Thor feels relief cascade through him. Very few people have tried to be sympathetic this...this  _weakness,_ and most simply say they'll try later, or ignore him. Brunnhilde is really the only one who  _didn't_ actively get frustrated or angry with him about it.

Loki's gaze flicks towards the door for a moment, and then turns back to him. "Are you hale?"

Thor blinks a little with surprise, admittedly thrown. That wasn't the first question he was expecting. He's not sure what he was, but just...not that. His mouth parts by habit, but Thor snaps it shut and gives a slight nod.

"Are Asgard's survivors well?"

Thor nods again.

"How long has it...no," Loki chews on his lower lip, " _has_ it been years since the attack on the  _Statesmen?"_

Yes.

Far to long.

Thor nods and flexes his fingers a little with discomfort as the memories threaten to slip forward. He doesn't want to deal or think on them at the moment. This is more important.

"Is...Is Thanos still alive?" Loki's voice is careful. Thor shakes his head, scowling a little. They left Thanos's corpse to rot and be eaten by the wild animals on his dubbed "Garden". Thor's perfectly fine with that. Thanos doesn't deserve a whit of mercy or kindness after what he did.

"Thanos succeeded in his goal," the question is phrased like a statement, but Thor nods to it anyway. Loki's quiet for a long second. "He had the Stones...and he snapped?"

How…?

Does it matter? He doesn't know half of where Loki gained the information that he's heard anyway. Besides, Loki and Nebula know each other, as demonstrated by the display in the garage, maybe they talked of it. The mental image of the two of them sitting side by side and speaking calmly can't quite take form in his head properly, though.

Thor gives another nod, wishing he could just form the syllable for  _yes._ It's  _one._ He doesn't understand this at all, and it's more frustrating than he can explain. Something is so terribly wrong with him.

Loki releases a soft breath, setting another bone in his hand and Thor tries not to visibly wince. "You're gathering the Infinity Stones...and the-Thanos already snapped, which means he's already destroyed them, so how—no wait," Loki pauses, worrying his lip with his teeth as he attempts to figure out how to ask his question in a way that can be answered in yes or no. "The scepter is here," Loki notes out loud and Thor tries not to uncomfortable that Loki knows that, but he can't help the slight worry that buzzes in the back of his mind anyway.

Taking Loki into a room with five of the six Infinity Stones was probably not the best idea, honestly. Any time that Loki has been near one has resulted in—no, he's not going to finish that thought. He's  _not_ pinning blame on Loki for the deaths. He's  _not._

"But the scepter was destroyed with the creation of Stark's...thing," Loki waves a hand, "the homicidal machine, and the one that pretends itself a man." Loki must have noticed his startled look and shakes his head, sighing, "Thor, Asgard left  _two_ Infinity Stones on Midgard when you took the Tesseract and me back to Asgard. I was king for four years, I kept an eye on them in a effort to plan a way to remove them discreetly. Thanos would have slaughtered them in droves if he arrived to take either."

Oh.

Thor had...he  _knows_  that Asgard was perfectly aware that Loki was their king for at least a year before he returned (he's heard from multiple Aesir of such, and he knows that Loki did so intentionally, for whatever reason), but he didn't really think much else of what Loki  _did_ when he ruled. It...hadn't occurred to him to wonder.

Loki waves a hand, pulling him back to the present, " _You_ collected me from the  _Statesmen,_ and if I'm dead here and the Good Captain had the scepter, then that means that he got it  _before_ the kill machine...but that would  _also_ indicate...that…" Loki stares at him, looking utterly flabbergasted as something occurs to him, and then drops his head into his uninjured hand, "Oh, you  _morons._ You broke the laws of time to collect the Stones, didn't you?"

Thor's fists clench. What else were they supposed to do!? Let  _trillions_ lay in an unjust resting place? Thor doesn't even know if any were granted passage into Valhalla or not.

Loki looks up at him, split lips thinned. He parts them with what looks like effort, "Let me make sure I understand: Your plan is collect the Stones, use them to bring the dead back, and then...what?  _Return_ them to the time you stole them and hope that no one noticed they went missing?"

Thor makes a face. It sounds a lot stupider out loud, but it might just be Loki's skeptical tone.

He nods anyway.

It's not his plan. It's Steve's. Or Tony's. Maybe Scott's. Thor's not really sure, Bruce wasn't very clear on that when he came to get him from New Asgard early this morning. (Was it really only today?). This room smells weird. It's like decaying dust, and that weird scent that Midgardian clothing gets from sitting still to long. What—? This isn't relevant.

"This is stupid," Loki announces, and Thor flicks his gaze towards him, confused. Loki waves him forward a little, "come here, I'll open a telepathic link between us. It will be faster."

Thor remains where he is stubbornly.

The pain levels are bad enough that Loki doesn't trust himself to speak anymore.

He should get Bruce. He needs to  _stop_ being stupid, because if this gets any worse than Loki will spend the next few weeks on a sick bed, and Thor refuses to bury him here. Loki isn't privy to these thoughts, and instead says, "I should have done this earlier, but I'm…" Loki stops, gnawing on his lower lip, "it didn't occur to me."

Thor remains where is, but realizes that stubbornness isn't going to get him anywhere, and the chances of beating Loki in a standoff are thin right now. How many minutes has it been? Three? Four? The few steps between himself and the younger feel as though he's not present; it's disorienting.

When he's close enough, Loki lifts up his right hand, keeping his left tucked close to his body and two of his fingers whisply touch Thor's right temple. Thor flinches at the touch. Sedir doesn't usually need physical touch to open a telepathic path like this.

He feels the familiar presence of his younger sibling in the back of his mind announces itself to him, and Thor's eyes widen a little, his muscles stiffening. It's been more than a decade since he's felt this.

Loki pulls his hand back, clenching his fingers and holding his gaze.

With the link properly settled, Thor grabs at it with mental fingers. ' _How bad is it?'_ Thor questions softly. Loki made a habit—before his coronation, before Jotunheim, and everything that followed after—to complain about how his mental voice was always booming anything. He really only made a half-hearted attempt to stop it before.

He'll do better this time.

' _Mmm. Not great,'_ Loki admits. ' _But I'll live.'_

Thor sighs. That shouldn't be the only indicator that everything is okay.

' _You'll be pleased to know that the Power Stone left no permanent damage,'_ Loki interjects and Thor nearly doubletakes, horror dropping to his toes.

' _Did you just search my mind? Loki—'_

' _Your_ brain,  _not your thoughts. Relax.'_ Loki coaxes. Their link is quiet for a second, ' _Thor...I can think of at least seven separate occasions where the Tesseract is accessible easier than on the_ Statesmen.  _New York six years ago, for one. Why would you choose_ then  _of all times?'_

Thor's lips thin a little, and averts Loki's gaze. He can't really come up with a good excuse, or anything that sounds like a halfway truth, so he gives up on it. ' _I could save you on the_ Statesmen,' Thor answers simply.

Loki's eyes widen a little, and the rapid flexing of his broken—healed? Thor's not sure—hand stops. The shock stings a little. Does Loki really think that Thor  _wouldn't_ take the opportunity to save him if he could?

Loki's lips part to say something, but a harsh gasp slips from his lips instead and his body slumps forward. Panic rushes through his limbs and Thor dives forward to catch him before hits the ground.  _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Loki needed a doctor and he—

' _Loki!?'_ Thor calls over their link, and feels no answer. ' _Loki, you idiot, I swear—'_

' _Shut up,'_ Loki's voice is weak, but present, and relief cascades through him. ' _You're yelling again.'_

' _Sorry.'_

He nearly cries out with relief, but this  _doesn't_ fix the problem. Loki needs a doctor, and Thor is not going to ignore that anymore. He was being stupid thinking that he could catch a breather, grabbing a brief second of simplicity to check of Loki's health himself before being booted off to grab the Aether. Thor lowers Loki to the ground and lifts a hand beneath Loki's nose to check breath as he presses the other against Loki's neck to check for a pulse.

He nearly draws back as a vivid memory of the bruising already forming around Loki's skin flashes through his mind.

Stop.

This isn't the  _Statesmen._

He needs help, or,  _actual_ medical supplies.  _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ How is he—he can't leave Loki here. He's breathing and his heart beating, but he doesn't feel comfortable leaving him here.

Loki's hand weakly raises to bat his away, ' _Stop._ Stop.  _I promise I'll tell you if my heart stops, deal?'_

' _This isn't funny, Loki,'_ Thor hisses sharply. His sibling is  _always_ trying to combat serious situations with humor, and it's something that's ever irked him. He needs Bruce, but how is he supposed to—FRIDAY. She's across the whole Compound, but Thor...still doesn't have a way to get her attention.

He's—the answer comes to him suddenly. ASL. After Steve collapsed S.H.I.E.L.D., they'd all moved into Avengers Tower, during which Thor learned of Clint's ears. He's mostly deaf, which wasn't a foreign thing to him, but Asgard had ways to simply work around the problem, sign language was startling. All of them learned to accommodate for the archer, and, though Thor hasn't had much reason to use it over the years, he can at least remember the alphabet.

He turns and frantically searches across the room until he spots one of the AI's camera. He waves a hand towards it, and feels Loki's gaze shift to him.

' _What on the Nine is the purpose for that?'_ Loki questions over their link.

Thor ignores him.

_Come on, come on—_

"Mr. Odinson, may I be of assistance?" FRIDAY asks, and Thor's shoulders slump with relief. He lifts up his hands and forces them to steady as he spells out his request.  _B-R-U-C-E. M-E-D-I-C N-E-E-D-E-D. G-E-T H-I-M?_

"Of course, Mr. Odinson," FRIDAY answers, "I'd already called him, I hope you don't mind."

He signs no, and notices Loki's stare on him. He glances at his sibling, noting the question in his eye, ' _The Midgardians developed means of speech through their hands,'_ He offers as an answer. He's not quite certain the origin of sign language admittedly, but he's just glad he remembered its existence.

It may have saved Loki's life.

Thor turns his attention to the injury and bats Loki's hand away gently when he attempts to stop him from tearing away the shoulder pads. He digs out a knife from his boot and raggedly cuts at the leather around the gunshot wound.

' _Thor, really,'_ Loki's voice is frantic, ' _it's nothing. You can let it rest.'_

' _Shut up,'_ Thor counters, and manages to cut the leather away from the charred skin. The wound is ugly, and Thor forces himself to breathe. Rocket shot his sibling. He actually  _shot_ him, and the damage may be worse than he was first thinking.

Thor gathers the remains of the leather that he cut at and presses it against the wound again. Most of the bleeding has stopped, but until Bruce gets here, at least he'll feel like he's doing something. Loki flinches to the pressure.

' _You shouldn't have got up,'_ Thor calls stiffly.

' _Probably not,'_ Loki agrees, ' _but you and I are both aware that it was staying there to be slaughtered, or running to lick my wounds in private.'_

' _The Avengers wouldn't have killed you,'_ Thor argues, but admittedly he's not certain it's the truth. He doesn't know them that well anymore. They've understandably ignored him for the last five years, and he's certain this pattern would have continued to their graves if it wasn't for Scott's interruption.

' _Hmm.'_ Is Loki's only reply.

The door to the room opens, and Thor looks up to see Bruce, with a bag around his shoulders, quickly move into the room. He kneels down next to Loki, wordlessly shoving Thor out of the way. Thor tries not to be irritated or frustrated by it, but doesn't find much success.

Bruce looks up at him as he dumps a liquid disinfectant that Thor can't name onto a cloth preparing to clean the wound, "Thor, the machine is set up. You need to leave."

Thor's jaw freely falls.

Bruce shakes his head, an expression of sympathy slipping onto his features, "Sorry. Sorry. I'm just…I want to get the Stones out of here as fast as we can. Steve threw up, and Scott followed after he'd finished gathering them."

Thor's lips press together in concern.

Oh.

The numbing. He knows that Midgardians feel the sensation as the Stones as a distinct numbing, and prolonged exposure can make them sick, but that has never been his experience. Anyone with sedir would feel differently, the Stones each have a distinct signature of power that can be sickening. Bruce presses the wad of cloth against Loki's shoulder, and his sibling flinches, "Sorry. The sooner we can get this over with, the better, Thor. All we need is the Aether and we're done. You'll be back in less than a minute."

A minute of  _this_ time, he could be on Asgard for hours.

Thor gives a hesitant nod. The sooner he leaves, the better, he supposes. Loathe he is the admit this.

' _You're going back to the time of the convergence? With Miss Foster?'_ Loki's voice is quiet in his mind.  _His voice is tight._

Jane.  _Jane._ He—doesn't want to think about her. The wound has lessened with time, but it's still sharp. She was taken in the snap, so he never got the opportunity to apologize for the mess he made of their relationship.

Thor nods, and then realizes what Loki is  _actually_ asking. His shoulders slump a little, but admittedly he'd been thinking of it as well, ' _Brother, I can't take Mother with me.'_

' _Why not? You took me.'_  Loki challenges, his tone desperate, ' _She dies that day, slaughtered like a pig for a banquet. We can—'_

'" _We"?'_ Thor interrupts, ' _There isn't a "we" in this. You're not going with me.'_

Loki is quiet, as if trying to gather himself, ' _I'm not asking for_ permission _. You pulled me back into this, and I'm not going to idly fret with my hair as you run through time and hope you don't make a mess of things. I can—_ "

' _No.'_ Thor argues.

' _Thor—'_

' _No, as your king, I command you to stand down. You can barely move, and you need to rest. The idea of you coming is ludicrous. You were just in a war, I'm not going to let you run around on Asgard with that!'_

' _How to you expect to subdue Miss Foster without me?_ ' Loki demands sharply, 'Woo  _her with your good looks and charm hoping that she doesn't notice when you pull an_ Infinity Stone  _from her blood?'_ Loki snorts a little, ' _Good luck with that.'_

Thor's fists clench, ' _What would you have us do, then?'_

' _I have sedir, Brother,_ ' Loki reminds, ' _I can put her in a sleeping trance and hide you from the guards. Malekith will be starting his attack then, and you'll never get out through the chaos._ '

' _Enough. You're not coming. Accept that.'_

' _For the love of—Thor, I'm not daft—'_

' _This is my final answer. I'll be back before Bruce is finished. Let him do his work.'_ Loki face twists with something that Thor can't quite place. He forces himself to steady, and studies his sibling desperately again. ' _I swear to you that you'll be safe here, and I'll return.'_

Bruce dabs something against the wound, and an open grimace flickers across Loki's face, Thor inhales deeply, and wishes that he hadn't left Stormbreaker on the  _Statesmen_ like an idiot, and then stands in the doorway, stopping as he feels Loki quietly call over the weakening link: ' _Don't do anything stupid.'_

Thor hides a weak grin, and then steps into the hall, quietly pleading with Bruce not to harm his brother. The Aether. It's just  _one_ minute, he can make it one minute, and then he'll be back at Loki's side to keep his stubborn little brother alive.

It's just  _one minute._ He'll have redeemed himself with gathering the Stones, and Loki will not have to be ashamed to claim him family. Asgard will not have to be ashamed to name him their king. He will have fixed his big stupid mistake.

It's one minute.

What is the worst that can happen?

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Clint explanation: I have a really hard time thinking that none of the Avengers got in contact with him for five years. That's five years. I just...that's really really weird to me. FRIDAY has satellites across the world and it took Nat all of about (at least what I'm assuming) four hours to find him in an entire city in Japan. (He wasn't even surprised to see her guys, like, if they hadn't made contact in five years, I feel like he would have said something else.)
> 
> Also, the person that Clint slit the throat of (I don't know his name) seemed to know the people that Clint killed (hence the Japanize gang), and Clint's excuse of "you survived" appeared to be a frazzled one. Like it was the first thing that came to his head rather than the truth. Annnd, Steve and Nat were the only people still living in the Compound, but Steve was going to a group therapy meeting, and Nat spent most of the first part of the movie crying or looking near tears. I think that something more traumatic (probably solitary confinement, food deprivation, interrogation, torture, etc.) happened to both of them before Endgame took place, and Clint left to kill their kidnappers as recompense for what they did.
> 
> I don't think that Clint had left to do this until a few months/weeks before Endgame takes place because Nat didn't instantly leap to her feet at the mention of finding him. They'd spoken before it took place, and Tony didn't show him pictures of Morgan, or mention "hey, I'm married now", because he didn't need to. They'd spoken, they'd met up; Clint didn't leave until after Nat and Steve were captured by the Japanize terrorists and held hostage for a few weeks.
> 
> Clint is protective and paranoid, and I can see him going for revenge on a group of terrorists, but anything else feels excessively OOC for me. Clint's entire arc in the first Avengers was learning to accept that the people he killed in cold blood were not his fault, and he was still a good man despite it. If he is just going after everyone because they survived, then he's regressing as a character.
> 
> Just...yeah. If this isn't what happened in Endgame, then...well, fine. This is an AU, and it is canon here. :D
> 
> Anyway, sorry guys, super long note, haha.
> 
> Next chapter: May 31st, June 7th, or sometime in-between that. Due to mental health reasons, I need to take a break for a week. :) Love you all, thank you again so much for your support. I have dearly appreciated it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your understanding last chapter! *heart warmed*! =D Really helped boost me through the last week, which was H-A-R-D. But I'm alive, right, so whoo. (Wow, I swear I will dig up some bits of not depressed enthusiasm soon, but not right now, haha.) Thanks again, you guys are incredible.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: None.
> 
> Disclaimer: Well, we all know what Endgame would have turned out like if I owned Marvel. As it is, I do not.

* * *

 

Rhodey lets Rocket remain seated on the table moodily glaring into a cup of water for a little over a minute past Clint's text before he moves forward and pointedly jabs him in the side, hard. Rocket's whiskers flick and he lifts his head, scowling.

"Watch it," he snaps, "I'm not above taking the arm,"

"I don't need to lose another body part," Rhodey assures lifting his hands in a lazy surrender, and Tony resists the urge to wince, instead ducking his head and leaning further against the fridge's door. He grips his phone tightly, and glances at Clint's text again.

The water bottle is sitting on the counter across from him, completely prepared for a transfer to the office-space, but it's not going there anytime soon. Maybe. Clint's greatest asset in these interrogations is the trust he can immediately build between the captive and himself. Tony will keep the water on hand for the next two hours, just to be safe.

Hopefully by then, they'll have found Nebula—the  _real_ Nebula—and be able to snap. No one's breathed a word of it, but Tony honestly thinks it a stupid idea to try and bring back the Vanished without having everyone they  _need_ accounted for. He doesn't want to accidentally lose Nebula in the transfer, and he has very little idea how the Infinity Stones actually work.

They think—that much he knows, but he hardly has a comprehensive guide he can flick through for assistance. Thor knows more than he does, honestly, but he doesn't know how much of that information will be helpful for  _this._

The refrigerator door is cold against his back, and this entire room smells faintly weird. Like someone left a can of peanut butter open for a while, and hasn't done the dishes since a week prior. Generally unpleasant.

He thinks he might be hungry, but the general nausea isn't helping his appetite any.

He flicks his phone up and opens the messages with Clint, noting with a slight pang at how answers stop abruptly two months ago. Tony was still texting him, trying to find his sorry butt, but Clint had gone completely silent. They were still looking after he vanished, but after they got Natasha and Steve back...Clint had stayed long enough to see them get stable, then he was in the wind.

' _Did you kill her?'_  Tony sends back, and turns off the screen, trying to pay attention to the heated stare down going on his left. He's pretty sure that Rocket and Rhodey traded a few more lines, but he wasn't paying much attention. It was muffled.

There are so many other things taking up his thoughts. More important things—they're  _actually_ going to do it. They're going to bring back the Vanished. They'll undo the stupid balance, and reset the universe to how it's  _supposed_ to be, where every life is precious and valued.

One where Peter is...

He flicks his gaze to his feet, clenching his hands into fists. His attempts at pretending this is fine are waning, and any grasp of control he had as slipped. This all feels so surreal.

Not twenty minutes ago, he was standing in 2012.

There are five Infinity Stones in the Compound.

Natasha is—gone.

Nebula is missing.

And  _Loki_ is in the building, injured, but  _here._

Tony doesn't really want to deal with this, stupid as that is. He'd much rather crawl under the covers of the nearest bed and sleep. It would be easier, but not the path that needs to be taken. Not the one he  _can._

"You're not usually this...angsty." Rhodey notes aloud, and Tony flicks his gaze up towards the two again, quietly agreeing. Rocket can be a bit of a pain in the butt (is mostly a pain in the butt), and has wit to rival his own, but beyond that he's fairly…"nice" is not the word. Easy going. That's what it is. Typically, violence is not his first reaction.

He  _shot_ Loki, and he looked pretty close to ripping Not-Nebula's face apart before Rhodey grabbed at him. If Rhodey hadn't, Tony thinks that Not-Nebula would be dealing with more than an interrogator. More like bloodied gashes, and maybe a bashed in skull.

Rocket huffs and rolls his eyes a little, "I'm not  _angsty."_

"You shot someone today," Rhodey counters, "I'd say that you're not exactly calm."

Point.

"He was trying to kill her," Rocket says in defense, posture rippling a little, "what else did you expect me to do?"

Ha.

Tony's first reaction is hardly to  _shoot_ someone. If they can be tackled, take the tackle.

"Subdue him—but you know, with like, your hands, " Tony calls out, and both turn to look at him. Tony withers a little under the attention, but he tries not to let it show. This is exhausting, and he has a headache forming at the front of his skull.

Rocket shakes his head, seeming frustrated, "It doesn't matter."

"You shot him, Rocket," Tony's voice is flat, "you  _actually_ shot him."

Rocket throws his paws up into the air, stance tight, "Oh my gosh, will you let that go? I've shot people before.  _You've_ both shot people before. I'm not the only person here with blood on my hands!"

Tony pauses. As much as he hates to admit it, the raccoon is right. He and Rhodey have fought in wars before, and neither side walks away unscathed. But—this was different. This  _feels_ different, at least. Maybe it's because Tony knows how hard Thor pressed to get them to allow him to go back to the  _Statesmen,_ or maybe it's the fact that Tony knows the victim.

Not personally, but he knows  _of_ him at least. Rocket could have  _killed_ him—and where would that have gotten them? Thor, he's fairly certain, would have lost it; and they'd never get the—is his biggest concern here that they wouldn't get an  _Infinity Stone?_ Thor's mental health should be prioritized first, he thinks, yet he doesn't—Loki's Asgardian, so Tony's fairly certain that he'll be fine. Thor's had buildings topple on top of him and walk away mostly unscathed. A bullet hole won't do much.

"This isn't about  _us_ ," Rhodey counters, "I want to know why you've been willing to take off the head of everyone in the building today."

Rocket is quiet a second, and then something nasty spreads across his face, "And  _I_  want to know how  _you_ lost Nebula."

Rhodey stills, and Tony rests a hand on his shoulder giving it a quick squeeze. Tony couldn't tell the two women apart any better than Rhodey could. They don't even know when the switch happened. It could have been before they started their quest.

Tony's about sixty-four percent sure that she's from 2014, but Not-Nebula could've been pulling the wool over their eyes for a lot longer than a few minutes. Wouldn't that be terrible? They didn't even notice that a doppelganger had taken her place for weeks?

"We don't know that Rhodey lost her," Tony argues, glancing toward the man's face for a second. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and the rest of his expression is grim.

Rocket snorts, "I know her, Red-Bells. The switch hadn't happened as of yesterday. Or this morning."

Alright, well, that's a comforting thought.

Tony bites at his lip, parsing Rocket with his gaze. The raccoon's expression is heated, but his paws keep twitching as if anxious. His entire body seems to be radiating it and suddenly everything clicks. Rocket is angry, yeah, but more prominent—he's  _panicking._

Gosh, he is  _terrible_ at emotions.

He has no idea how to help.

He never does, admittedly.

"Rocket," Rhodey's tone is even, "we're going to find her. You know that, right?"

Rocket is quiet. Still. It says more than any words could have, so Tony tries, and fails, not to be stung by it. Rhodey sighs a little, "That's fine that you don't."

"She's all I have left," Rocket murmurs softly, "I don't know what I'm going to do if I lose her, too."

Tony is suddenly once again struck by just how  _lucky_ he was. He didn't lose much of his family—not like Rocket did. Not like Thor. Not like Clint. His losses stung—and still do—but he didn't lose  _everything_ to Thanos.

Just Peter ( _he buried his child. He buried a—),_ and the rest of the Avengers.

He doesn't want to contemplate this. It hurts to much, still, even with the passage of time. They're going to return the Vanished. They're  _going_ to make this right. Thanos won't have won. They'll take vindictive pleasure in it later, knowing that his mutilated rotting corpse didn't accomplish anything but his own death.

They're going to win.

They have to.

Rhodey leans forward and gives Rocket's shoulder a quick squeeze, "You won't have to figure that out."

Rocket grimaces, and wiggles out of the grip; not an uncommon thing for him. Where physical touch can be avoided, Rocket typically takes that route.

"Yeah, sure," Rocket agrees tonelessly. The doubt is thick.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head. They'd traded empty promises like this for the first few weeks after the snap. Tony mostly with Nebula on her ship, but he knows that it was passed around the Avengers until Thanos's death. They'd been trying to fix the nightmare, and the empty platitudes were a reassurance.

But Tony still lost the kid, and he never got him back.

And now Natasha is dead, too, though he can't quite wrap his head around that. He keeps expecting her to walk into the room or something—but it's not going to happen again.  _It can't._

His phone vibrates against his jacket pocket, and Tony carefully slides the device out, trying not to gain the attention of Rhodey and Rocket, who are still talking. Whatever they're saying doesn't make much sense. It's just white noise.

He flicks his gaze towards Clint's answering text: ' _Alive and whole, unfortunately. She's Nebula from a different date. And a scowler. She shut up pretty quickly after I tried to get an age off of her.'_

Tony frowns a little, and bites at his lower lip before answering: ' _Katniss. Shame on you. Don't you know it's terrible manners to ask a woman's age?'_ His attempt at humor is weak, but it staves some of the anxiety in his stomach. Barely.

Clint answers after a few seconds: ' _Haha.'_

Tony thins his lips, and looks up as he hears footsteps moving towards the kitchen. They're quiet, but years as Iron Man has taught him better than to be ignorant of small things like that. Thor steps into the room a few seconds later, and Rhodey halts mid-sentence to look up.

"Oh. Hey Thor," Rhodey says and dips his head a little in greeting.

Thor's lips are pressed together so tightly it look painful, but he gives a slight wave all the same. Tony realizes that his hands are still dirty with hastily washed off blood, and the thought makes him vaguely ill. Loki. Loki was shot, and Tony heard Bruce's report through FRIDAY about the state of his shoulder. Medical attention was warranted, but he didn't get to far before the Asgardians slipped off to chat and have tea.

Tony's gaze lingers on Thor for a little longer than normal, and it takes him a second to place what about Thor is bothering him so much: his teammate looks  _ghastly._ He hadn't really had the time between everything else to truly  _look,_ but anything above a half glance completely changes his entire previous perspective. Tony hasn't seen him much since the snap, honestly, but he knows him well enough to compare with then and now.

In bleak, honest truth: He looks cadaverous. Like one good shove would cripple him. His eyes are shadowed, long hair a mess despite what looks like some effort, and he's lost at least fifteen pounds since the last time Tony saw him—sometime last year, he thinks—making the bones of his hands and face stick out more than they already were. He's fairly certain the only reason Thor  _looks_ semi- _normal_ is from the armor covering a majority of his frame. It hides a lot, but not enough.

If he  _wasn't_  lugging around the extra twenty pounds the extent of his ill health would be more prominent.

Maybe...maybe they should wait to get the Aether. Thor is the only one who can navigate the Asgardian palace that they have on hand—save possibly Loki, but Tony will sooner  _actually_  burn Morgan's Barbies than ask the wayward psychopath for assistance—and they need to be able to find the Aether.  _Actually_ find it as fast as possible.

Thor doesn't look like he can do that, not really. He does not look battle ready. And—that does bring up the point—Where is Stormbreaker? Shouldn't Thor be lugging it around with him like usual?

"Mr. Odinson would like me to inform you that the time for departure is now," FRIDAY calls out, and Tony flicks his gaze towards her camera on instinct, and then turns his gaze to Thor, confused. Why isn't he…?

Rocket sighs and grabs a piece of fruit from the large bowl set in the center of the table. Tony has no idea who did it, but he's guessing Natasha or Steve, since they're the only people who've been staying here the last few months.

"'Kay," Rocket grumbles, taking a bite of the apple as he clambers off of the table.

"Mr. Odinson would  _also_ like me to inform you that communication will be limited throughout the journey, and express his sincere apologies." FRIDAY adds, and Thor's face heats a little at that, but he stubbornly keeps his lips pressed together.

Tony shares a confused look with Rhodey.

What would Thor have to have FRIDAY speak for him? He really  _didn't_ catch the flu or something, right? Tony feels like sickness would have been brought up, but this  _is_ Thor. The Asgardian complains to anyone within earshot about bumping his elbows and toes into door frames and tables, but he wouldn't breathe a word of a severed limb. Does he have strep throat? Can Thor even  _catch_ strep throat?

"Are you sick?" Tony blurts out, unable to stop the question, and Thor's gaze shifts to him, squinted. Confused. Tony waves a hand a little, "You're just...not talking. Did you catch your death of a cold?"

Thor grimaces with something that looks like bitterness, but shakes his head. He lifts his hands and shakily signs, " _I am well,"_ in ASL. Tony hesitates, not convinced. If Thor's  _not_ sick, and Tony  _heard_ him speaking earlier, then why is...this not uncommon? Backtracking over the last few years, Tony has hardly heard Thor say much since before Thanos. At first he thought it some sort of weird Asgardian grieving tradition that he had to follow—thirty days of silence or something like that—but clearly there's more to it.

And he missed  _all_ of that.

Wonderful.

He's always been an ignorant idiot, so this shouldn't be much of a surprise—but it's been  _five years._ He's talked to Thor a little since then. Thor is one of his daughter's  _godparents_! Why wouldn't he—he's jumping to conclusions. He needs to stop and think. Thor could have dozens of reasons for doing this, and Tony could be theorizing the stupidest scenarios.

He needs more data.

Rocket turns to them, jaw taut, "Well, that's it, then. To the battlefield of the gold dipped city. Hopefully the angry red dust won't eat us whole."

Oh.

Yes.

Right: the Aether. That is a thing.

"Do you feel up to it?" Tony questions, specifically towards the blond. The Asgardian seems a little thrown by the blunt question, but Tony doesn't have the time or the willpower to be subtle about this. After a moment Thor nods, and Tony bites back his urge to disagree.

Rocket waves a hand, taking another bite of the fruit, "We'll be back in a minute, don't fret," the raccoon assures, and then looks up towards Thor, "We'll have to make a stop by the  _Benatar,_ I left my gun there—The one that can hold the Stone."

Thor nods.

Rocket returns the gesture, "Alright, let's get this over with," he mutters.

Tony waves a little uncertainty, "Good luck," he calls towards the two as they exit the room. Rocket answers with a clipped "thanks", but Thor remains silent. Tony's lips thin tightly, and he mentally files onto his To-Do list finding the source of Thor's sudden, unnerving quiet.

But for now it will have to wait.

000o000

Lang and Rhodey are put in charge of running the machine, and Tony collects the Stones from the former to put in a more secure location. Leaving them out in the middle of the garage is probably one of their less genius ideas, and Tony isn't going to let them get stolen when they're so close to fixing this.

So he dumps them in Natasha's office, trying not to look at anything to closely, and then turns on his heal leaving FRIDAY in charge of the security to go find Bruce. He knows that the gamma-scientist was trying to get Steve back on his feet after some sort of anxiety attack—something of the like—and he'd be lying to admit he's not a little worried.

Steve doesn't— _hasn't_ had attacks like these for some time. Even after the terrorists.

He fires of a text to Pepper to give a vague progress report, and then steps into the small medical hall on this floor. There's a larger one in the basement, but after Avengers Tower, Tony learned his lesson with not having some sort of medical equipment available on every floor.

In the joined room, Tony spots Steve sitting up on a hospital bed, looking vaguely ill and staring at his clenched hands. He's towards the far left of the space, and on the immediate right, Tony stills a little as he sees Bruce securing a fluid's line into Loki's left arm. The Asgardian's eyes are closed and his breaths are rhythmic and deep. An IV is attached to Loki's right elbow, and Tony can see the sheer magnitude of bandages wrapped around his right shoulder.

The dark shirt he was wearing earlier is missing, and Tony decides that was probably the best choice given the wounds. His ribs are a mess of discoloration, and Tony knows from personal experience that it must be unpleasent.

"He get hit by a truck?" Tony questions halfheartedly, but doesn't raise his voice much. Steve still flinches to it, and Bruce glances back at him, shaking his head a little.

"Maybe," he mutters, "I wouldn't be surprised. I finally got Thor to leave about half an hour ago. Loki's been medical for about twenty, and I just got the worst stitching job of my life done about two minutes ago." Bruce finishes attaching the IV and glances up at him, "Did Thor and Rocket finally leave?"

"Yeah," Tony assures, and privately wonders what Thor was  _doing_ for half an hour, because from the garage to the kitchen is a walk under five minutes. Apparently some talking—signing—whatever it was to FRIDAY was in the midst of that.

He walks forward a little, thinning his lips tightly. With some effort, he parts them and looks up at Bruce, "Did he pass out?" He questions, flicking a hand towards Loki's unconscious form. For some reason, he really doubts that how Loki got there wasn't peacefully falling asleep.

Bruce tilts his head a little in a so-so gesture, "Ahh...sort of. He was pretty out of it and I sedated him."

Tony lifts an eyebrow. "Isn't that...like illegal?"

Bruce shrugs, stuffing his glasses up his nose, "Kind of, but I couldn't help him otherwise. I'll apologize when he wakes up."

"That's really not how that works." Tony comebacks.

He flicks his gaze towards Loki's pale chest again and distantly notes the awful scarring poking out from underneath the bruises on his ribs. Amid these is a ghastly rigged one towards his left side; whatever it was that got him probably  _just_ missed his heart. Tony knows that Thor isn't nearly this scarred, and is admittedly curious as to where Loki's originated from.

Tony forces his attention away from the wounds, "What dosage did you use?" He questions, then appends: "Of the sedative."

Bruce shakes his head, suddenly looking tired and well beyond his years. "I'm not really sure. Enough so I could do the stitches, but I couldn't find any we have for Thor."

Tony nods. So it probably won't be a deep sleep, then. Thor's metabolism is wicked fast, and trying to find Earth medicine that would work on him was a nightmare. At least, because of prior experience, when the Asgardian refugees arrived on Earth they had something that could help them quickly.

Tony resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, and gives Bruce another nod before shifting across the room to quietly take a seat beside Steve on the hospital bed. Steve's gaze is distant, but it flicks up towards him for a second as he takes the position on the mattress.

Tony bites at his tongue to prevent himself from immediately saying something stupid, trying to do this tactfully. He's really...how does he ask the question he  _wants_ to ask, but not in a blunt, rude way? Okay, if he...just...maybe…? "I heard you threw up on my time travel platform," Tony blurts, and mentally winces.

There it is.

Steve sighs and rubs at his fist a little, "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"I spent, like, two hundred dollars on that," Tony adds, "probably less. Bruce wasn't really too picky on material. And I mean, after nanotech, it really isn't that big of a deal anymore."

Steve looks up at him and raises an eyebrow, "Are you trying to reassure or guilt trip me?"

"I'm not sure," Tony admits, "maybe both?"

Steve shakes his head a little, but there's something fond about it, "Thanks."

"Yeah, um, anytime," Tony tugs at the edge of his jacket sleeve with his thumb, then realizes who the gesture reminds him of and draws back. He looks up at Steve's studying eyes, trying not to be unsettled. Tony blows out a breath, "You good?"

Steve shakes his head a little, which is about as much of an admittance of mental distress as Tony's going to get. The super soldier gnaws on his lower lip for a second, "I don't know," he admits, something strained in his face, "Tasha's...gone. I'm…"

Tony's face pinches, and he tries to stuff down the sting of the reminder.

They're going to fix it.

They're going to bring her back with everyone else.

"We'll bring her back," Tony assures, "we're going to make it right."

Steve nods, but it seems oddly careful, "I know, but...I'm just…" he looks up at him earnestly, "Tony, something is  _wrong_ with those Stones. You can feel that, right?"

The fact that they're unsettling or the part where they make him want to claw out his own hair after a few minutes in their presence? Building Ultron was a nightmare, and it involved he and Bruce mostly nursing headaches that Tony thought were an effect of exhaustion from lack of sleep.

He knows better now. He'd  _like_ to think that they all learned after the Helicarrier, but evidently not. Otherwise Tony doubts he and Bruce would have touched Loki's scepter after they got it from Strucker. He would have shoved it into Thor's hands and demanded that he burn it. Or whatever it was that Asgard was going to do with it.

Tony gives a slow nod, "Yeah. It's the tingle, right?"

Steve stares at him.

Tony gestures with his hand, "The weird buzz in the head, and then the tingling in the limbs? Like being dumped into ice cold water?"

Steve anxiously twitches his hands, but nods, "Yeah. That."

"The sooner we get them out of here the better," Tony addresses, tilting his head back. Thor and Rocket should be back with the Aether now. Once they dump it in Natasha's office, they can focus on finding Nebula and then bring back the Vanished.

Has Clint gotten any further in his interrogation?

Tony didn't stay diligently by the water like he was supposed to. Oops. He's not terribly far from the kitchen. If Clint texts him to let him know that he needs the water, he can get it there relatively quickly.

A soft moan jerks his attention back into the hospital room, and Tony's fists clench by his sides as he sees Bruce's head lift towards Loki. The Asgardian is...he knows that Thor considers him an ally, but Tony was  _just_ in 2012; the fresh reminder of the destruction that Loki caused was a bitter one.

New York become a city bathed in blood.

And Loki walked away from his sentence after a  _year_.

Beside him, Steve's hands tighten as well, but Bruce moves forward a little. "Loki?" He questions, keeping his tone in what Tony has quietly dubbed his "doctor voice". He typically speaks calmly, but when he's in this mode, his articulation becomes collected to the point of dead.

It's always bothered Tony, honestly. It feels impersonal.

Loki's eyes blink rapidly and he stays still for about a second staring up at the ceiling before he bolts upright. Bruce grabs at his wrists before Loki can rip anything out or do further damage, but Tony's entire body still clenches.

Loki jerks in the grip, panting.

"Hey, breathe," Bruce instructs, "you're fine. I'm not going to hurt you."

Loki gasps a little, but his eyes are transfixed on Bruce's face. "Banner." He says the word stiffly, "Where...where is Thor? Where am...this is not the  _Statesmen."_

"No," Bruce agrees, "You were shot, do you remember?"

"Yes...I think…" Loki goes quiet abruptly, and then his eyes pinch close. Tony pegs that to be the memories returning. Drugs are a tricky thing like that, and Tony personally hates the ever reliable disorienting that they give. The brief lapse of blank when awakening is something he  _loathes._  Hospitals are always trying to stuff you full of drugs, and Tony'd rather  _not_ wake up with another battery sticking out of his chest, thanks.

Bruce's fingers loosen slightly around Loki's wrists, and the wave of discomfort that passes through him at that is nearly breathtaking.

Loki's breathing steadies, and, with what looks like effort, he opens his eyes again. He quickly surveys the room, lingering on Tony and Steve for a moment before looking up at Bruce again. Unlike what Tony was admittedly expecting, Loki doesn't immediately rip his hands back, and then spring across the room hissing. Instead, with an even tone that has to be forced, he says: "Please let me go,"

Bruce releases his wrists immediately, and Loki grabs at the edge of the blanket, looking uncomfortable. That's...a little weird. Tony honestly doesn't think he'd seen Loki looking anything other than perfectly relaxed when he invaded in 2012.

"You should lay down," Bruce instructs, "you're going to damage your ribs."

Loki doesn't shift, "I think myself rather content upright, thank you."

"Loki," Bruce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath the glasses. Loki shifts a little, and Tony's gaze briefly flickers towards the edge of exposed skin on his back, which has just as many cicatrix as his front. Maybe more, but it's hard to tell from this angle.

Loki smiles thinly.

Bruce's eyebrow lifts and he stares Loki down for a long few moments. To Tony's surprise, Loki sighs and complies with the command a moment later, stiffly leaning down against the mattress. Every move is oddly tense, and Tony realizes that he honestly doesn't think that Loki's body language was  _relaxed_ during the invasion.

He looks just as stiff then as he does now; at least, from what Tony can remember. That  _was_ eleven years ago, and while his memory's detail is a curse, he's not exactly immune from forgetting things. Pepper can attest to that.

Tony shares a glance with Steve, uncertain where to go from here. Bruce, thankfully, cuts through the tension by pointing towards the IV and other fluids attached to Loki, "You need those to stay alive; remove them and I'll hit you," he warns.

Loki huffs, adjusting the thin blanket, "I'll bare that in mind, Doctor."

"Good," Bruce says and turns striding across the room until he's standing in front of Steve. Tony, from the corner of his eye, sees Loki staring at them. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yeah," Steve nods, "I'm probably not going to throw up again."

Bruce gives a weak smile and turns, plucking a water bottle off of the bedside table that Tony hadn't noticed was there until now. He hands it to Steve, "Try drinking that slowly. If you can keep it down for twenty minutes, I'll let you go."

Steve twists off the cap and nods, tipping the water bottle up to his mouth and drinks as instructed. Tony warily adjusts himself to jump away should the contents come back up, but Steve pulls down the bottle and doesn't look ready to heave.

"You should sit down," Tony says to Bruce, "you look like you're going to fall over."

Bruce waves a hand, "I'm fine."

Sure. And Tony's the King of England. He opens his mouth to protest loudly, but there's a scramble outside of the door that causes them all to tense before it's thrown open. Lang, breathless, pants several times hand lingering on the doorknob.

"This...oh...man…" He gasps.

Tony's on his feet, though he can't remember standing, and he reaches the man first. He grabs at his shoulder, "What happened? Are you okay?"

Lang looks up at him, eyes wide, "No.  _No._ That...guy...the one who's mean—Rhodes. It's Rhodes. He sent me to find you."

Tony tries to quell the sudden, deep dread that has settled in his stomach. Lang and Rhodey were in charge of the time dashboard, and if Rhodey sent Lang as a messenger man—something must have gone wrong.  _Deeply_ wrong. Worse than aging someone into a child or an old man.

Curses!

"What happened?" Tony presses, and hears Steve come to a stop behind him.

Lang sits up fully, managing to regain some of his breath. His gaze anxiously flits across them for a second. "We lost them."

Tony's spine goes rigid, "You  _what?"_ He's pretty sure that Loki says something from his position in the hospital bed, but distinct words Tony's deaf for.

"We lost them; Rocket and Thor—Rhodey pulled the signal back, like you said to, and they didn't come back." Lang explains quickly. Tony's mouth tastes suddenly dry, and his hands feel heavy. Like they're encased in granite.

Tony swears under his breath sharply, and shoves past Lang storming down the hallway. Steve and Bruce are following after him, and Lang scampers up until he's walking in pace next to him. "We really tried everything, I promise," Lang assures, "but it's been almost six minutes, and we can't get it to work."

Tony should have stayed behind until they returned. He left them when they were preparing to depart, and then went to go find Cap. This is  _his_ machine, if he lost Rocket  _and_ Thor through time…there may not be a way to get them back. He's hopelessly optimistic about Nebula, because Not-Nebula is— _was,_ Clint took it—wearing the time watch Nebula bore. If Thor and Rocket are still attached to theirs, but not returning…

Tony doesn't know what to do.

Time travel is not a science he's very familiar with. He's a mechanic, not a quantum physicist. He's mind is buzzing with rapidly spinning thoughts and he barely remembers much of the journey from the medical to the garage. Rhodey is standing next to the computer and looks up at him helplessly as he arrives.

"I keep pulling at it, but there isn't anything responding," Rhodey explains.

Tony bites sharply at his gums to withhold another profanity, and comes to a stop next to the computer, pulling up several screens. "FRIDAY, what's your analysis?" He questions, flipping up the programming to check the time-watches. He didn't tell anyone, but he also designed them to register heart rate, oxygen level, and other basic life signs.

His gaze lingers on Natasha's, but he refuses to check her vitals. He's still pretending like an ignorant child, and that's going to get someone else killed. Like Peter, like Nat, like  _half the flippin' universe._

"I can't get a signal," FRIDAY answers, "something's messing with my scanners."

Thor and Rocket's vitals are normal save their slightly elevated heart rates, but nothing seems to be explicitly wrong. They're both wearing the watches, though, which means Tony really  _lost_ them. He swears sharply again, and flicks through several more screens, pulling up the equations for the travel.

"What  _are_ you picking up?" Tony demands, rapidly scrolling.  _Where did he go wrong? Where can he put this back together? Where did he mess it up? How can he get them_ back?  _Oh, God, please—how does he make this right!?_ Heaven, as it always has been for him, keeps answers to itself.

"Their faint presence, but it's warped. Nothing that we can pull them back through. Just pieces of their bodies, if it comes to that." FRIDAY answers a moment later. "It's impossible to  _catch_ them, and I'm uncertain why, Boss."

"Tony," Bruce's voice is desperately quiet, and Tony turns to see him also standing beside another screen. His hand is frozen over something, and his lips press tightly before he shoves it towards the monitor Tony is looking at. Tony scans it, and feels his stomach drop.

"No," he breathes, " _no, no, no."_

"What's the problem?" Steve prods hesitantly. Calmly. Tony wants to throw something at him for it, but he doesn't have a pliable reason.

"It's…" Bruce trails, then gathers himself, "we were so busy trying to find a time where we  _knew_ where the Aether was, that we didn't take into account  _what was happening_ when it was."

Lang blinks at them.

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose.

"...The Convergence," Steve murmurs, scanning at the screens as if it will explain for him. Tony knows that Steve isn't stupid, but the only thing he's going to get from looking over these equations is a headache.

Tony nods grimly, "Yeah, so, as it turns out, having worlds fall into alignment with each other is  _not_ something that we factored in our equations." Tony runs a hand through his hair anxiously, "We lost them. We  _really_ lost them, and I don't have  _any_ idea how to fix it."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worlds are falling into each other, and their time travel involved shrinking themselves small partials to be propelled back in time. Why would the Convergence not effect it? Sorry, I just, I am an astronomy nerd and this entire thing bothered me (and the physics makes no sense about time travel whatsoever, so I'm trying to fix that with this). I'm sure so many of you were ready for a nice fluffy conversation with Frigga. Sorry. :)
> 
> Next chapter: June 7th.
> 
> Gentle reminder: You are not the nasty words someone labels you as, okay, loves? Love you all! Until June! =D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support! You guys are the BEST! =D Free virtual goodies for everyone! =D
> 
> Warnings: Some description of violence
> 
> As a heads up: There are about three different theorized ways to travel in time, and I'm basing this story off of a single continuum, because it makes more sense to me, personally. Single continuum, in a nutshell, is basically this: Whatever happened in the past, your future self has already experienced. Meaning, you can't do something without causing a ripple effect in time, which is really what I thought they set up as time travel rules in Dr. Strange.

* * *

 

Bruce grabs at his hair sharply and  _tugs._ The sensation stings down the tips of his roots, but he doesn't care much for that fact. He hisses through his teeth and gives his scalp another firm yank.

This can't be happening.

It  _can't._

They didn't  _really_ lose Rocket and Thor, right? This is all some sort of hilarious joke that Bruce can't find a punchline for. Oh, for all that is good in this world, they lost the  _King of Asgard._ This isn't just an effect from the outer regions of the—they lost the  _entire_ remaining bit of the Guardians of the Galaxy.

Curses. Curses.  _Curses._

This is a nightmare he has to wake up from. He just doesn't think that a pinch is going to get him there.

Tony slams a hand down on the table top and swears lowly, looking just as agitated as Bruce feels. They aren't supposed to do this anymore. Not after Ultron. He and Tony have worked backwards through hoops to make sure they don't accidentally create another murder bot when they  _do_ work together. It isn't nearly as often as it used to be, because every time they do— _this_ happens. First Ultron—now,  _now_ they've lost  _three—_ not just one—separate people to the folds of time. Disaster. This is a large mass of a disaster that Bruce honestly has no idea how to fix.

"Language," Steve reminds, but his voice sounds tired. Brittle.

Bruce lifts his head up towards Steve, and, in turn the others, but bites at his tongue to withhold a profanity as he sees how wide Lang's eyes are. His lips are thinned tightly and Rhodey looks like someone spilled acid on his face.

This is a nightmare.

"I can't—" Bruce grips at his scalp again, but Tony grabs at his forearm before he can pull again.

"Stop that,"

Bruce squirms out of his grip, anxiety threatening to make him bodily heave. "No— _we just lost three people,_ Tony! Nebula was a mess, but there was a possibility that it could be fixed— _We'd already done it before!_ The single continuum was what we based the entire—"

"" _We"?"_ Tony cuts, and releases a strange sounding laugh, "No, don't be stupid. This one's on me.  _I'm_ the one who ran the algorithm.  _I_ lost Thor and Rocket— _you_ just aged Lang up and down his timeline.  _Stop being stupid!"_

"I  _helped_ you finalize everything!" Bruce spits angrily, "I did more than age Lang!"

"And a load of help  _that_ did!" Tony fires back, clenching his fists. "Do you have a solution to this, then!?"

Bruce rears away, but gains his bearings after a second, blood hot. "There is  _no way_ to get them back without the time-watches, and you know it!" Bruce hisses, " _I_ was the one who ran the diagnostics on 2013 and concluded it was perfectly  _harmless._ If I'd factored in the Convergence, then—"

"Okay, enough," Steve's voice is sharp, and he steps between the two of them, expression pinched with something Bruce can't quite place. "There isn't a point to this—picking fights isn't going to help us get them back."

Bruce bites back the desire to let the hysterical laugh bubble out of his throat, "What  _will,_ then, Steve?" He demands.

"Just— _calm down,"_ Steve instructs, "breathe, if we got them  _to_ the right time period with worlds falling in on each other, we can bring them back, all right?"

No.

Tony smiles thinly, but leans back against the desk. His arms are folded across his chest, and Bruce is suddenly acutely aware of the blood in his mouth from where he was biting at his tongue. The entire room's air feels strangely weighted.

Bruce wants to flee, but it isn't going to solve anything.

He's not a coward— _he tries really, really hard not be—_ and this is  _his_  mess, ergo: his responsibility.

"What do we know about what happened?" Rhodey questions softly, but still looks wary. Spooked almost; as if someone's going draw a knife. It forces Bruce to grasp a hold of himself and  _breathe._ Shouting isn't going to solve anything, though he'd love to scream some more.

Slowly, carefully, he lowers his hands, releasing his scalp.

Tony rubs at his forehead, "Thor and Rocket exited the tunnel to 2013, and then every signal we have save the time-watches fizzles out. From what I can make out, they did make it to Asgard—the atmospheric pressure is affecting Rocket's breathing patterns and other vitals."

Bruce glances at the screen behind Tony, noting the same. Bruce didn't know that the watches also served as a vitals checker until a few seconds ago. Not a bad idea, honestly, but it makes him feel strangely exposed to know that Tony was watching them all. Not that he ever put one  _on_ save to run the tests, but still. Maybe, somewhere in the outer regions of his mind that isn't panicking, he's comforted by the thought as well.

"Badly?" Steve questions, tipping his head a little.

Tony shakes his head.

"Wait—" Lang starts, and all of them flick their gazes to him, "—I don't understand. Atmospheric pressure? Are you like...Asgard has a different Exosphere or something?"

Bruce shakes his head, but Tony speaks first, "Asgard is, from what I've heard from Thor, half a planet that collapsed in on itself. The weird pressures to keep an atmosphere with that—don't ask me how it works—are where they get their super human strength and that. It  _should_ affect Rocket because Thor's lungs work differently than ours, and it won't show on his vitals, but on a  _raccoon..."_

"So...you're saying that Asgard has less air than Earth?" Lang clarifies.

Bruce nods, "Basically. I was there for about two minutes, it was weird."

"But—then shouldn't Rocket being going into cardiac arrest or something?" Lang asks, looking utterly confused.

Bruce sighs, and tries not to pinch the bridge nose.  _No,_ because the air difference shouldn't be that terrible as long as they haven't been there for too long. Probably more than an hour or so; without an adjustment period (which they didn't give him), Rocket's internal organs are going to explode given enough time. Like being dumped on the top of Mount Everest and—without the freezing temperatures—told to stay for half and hour.

Thor assured them it would take less than twenty minutes.

And then Bruce and Tony  _lost_ them, and now they're on the clock for a death toll as well.

Marvelous.

Steve waves a hand, "We can contemplate that later. Right now we need to figure out how to bring them back here. Is it something that can be done from our end?"

"I doubt it," Bruce says, tugging the edges of his sleeves over his hands. "We didn't program their watches to come back through the Convergence. The only way we can get them now is to physically bring them updated versions."

His words hang in the air, heavy.

Bruce sets his jaw.

Tony slowly lifts his head, and Bruce's stomach twists into uncomfortable knots as he recognizes the expression. "No," he shoots down quickly. "Don't even suggest it."

"Bruce," Tony's voice is losing patience, "what other choice do we  _have?"_

"Not  _that_ one!" Bruce defends, "We don't even know if we  _can_ get it to work right! What if we  _do_ send people back to give them the watches, but then we lose them, too?"

Tony is quiet for a long second, and then, like the stupid snot he is points out: "History shows a different path,"  _Curse_ that stupid time loop—of  _course_ Tony would bring it up. Their current future has already been interacted with by their past selves—hence the single continuum—but that doesn't necessarily mean they did it  _well_ before.

Bruce glowers at him.

"Alright, telepathic big brains, we get it," Rhodey assures, and Bruce looks up, "care to share with the rest of the class?"

No.

Not really.

Tony waves his hands a little, "If we can reprogram the watches and send people back to 2013...there is a possibility we could bring them back if we  _give_ them updated watches. Frankly, I don't...I don't know what to do otherwise. We can't just leave them there."

No, they can't. And, unless Rocket and Thor have been in hiding for a long time, apparently they were successful in their attempt to bring them back.  _Whatever_ it  _was._ This is maddening. He is  _not_ a quantum physicist. He's a biochemist. Just because he knows how to  _do_ things in one area doesn't automatically mean he qualified for this! Who they  _really_ need to consult is Dr. Jane Foster, Albert Einstein, Stephen Hawking— _someone_ who actually  _dealt_ with this stuff and has the expertise, but all of them are dead. The latter two by natural causes, and Dr. Foster is among the Vanished.

_Curses!_

"Couldn't we just send them the watches through the tunnel?" Lang questions, gaze flicking between himself and Tony with a furrowed expression.

Tony shakes his head, and Bruce notes that he's doing the same almost distantly. "We could, but it won't be helpful the size of a pym particle." Tony notes, "I mean, would you even notice that if I shot it at you? The nano tech has to be touching living matter in order to shrink and grow in and out of the tunnel."

Lang's face visibly falls.

"Alright," Steve agrees, "but are there any other options? I don't want to lose anyone else today."

Neither does he. This is four of ten; if they drop anyone else they'll be halved. ( _Perfectly balanced)._ Bruce shakes the thought off and looks up at Tony digging backwards through his brain for anything else they can do.

They could...but that wouldn't...maybe—no...what if—definitely not. He doesn't want to piece them back together. If they—no. Not  _that_ either. Maybe— _no._ No. Just no.

Bruce bites at his gums sharply, and shakes his head, "No," he admits reluctantly, "we  _have_  to send someone as a messenger with the watches to grab them, or they're staying there."

"What if they just wait until after the Convergence is over?" Rhodey questions, "Thor isn't stupid, and neither is Rocket. When they can't come back, one of them is bound to figure it out."

"With the Aether in their hands?" Tony questions doubtfully, "They can't run around with it for six months; Dr. Foster's scanners finally stopped picking up traces of the Convergence after effects after about that long—but rippling thin effects are still happening  _today._ Their mission was supposed to take less than twenty minutes, remember? If Asgard sounds the alarm—"

"They didn't," Steve notes out loud and groans, rubbing at his forehead, "this is a nightmare. How we accomplished it was already  _done,_ but we don't know  _how_  we went about doing it."

"Welcome to the time loop," Tony grumbles under his breath, "we should have based this off of infinite alternatives."

Ha. A little late  _now._ Bruce lifts an eyebrow, "Because more than a trillion possible tunnels couldn't have gone wrong at  _all."_

Tony waves a hand, "Shut up. You know what I mean—" most unfortunately "—and this was the only one that factored without blowing everyone up. I  _tried_ the other tunnels when the loop worked, but it...wasn't happening." Tony rubs at his forehead again, and sighs under his breath.

Steve's quiet for a second, "We  _have_ to send someone to Asgard?"

"Yeah," Bruce agrees idly, drumming his fingers across the desk as he tries to figure out how he  _can_ factor in the Convergence into the equations. He's going to need Dr. Foster's notes on it, but getting  _those_ will likely be via illegal means. He can't exactly  _ask_ her anymore.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and runs a hand through his ragged hair, "None of us know Asgard—that's why we  _sent_ Thor to collect twice. He was the navigator and Rocket was the means to keep the Aether contained. We're going to get lost and waste time trying to find them—time that we don't exactly  _have._ Didn't Thor mention there was some sort of battle going on in the middle of this?"

"Something to do with Dark Elves," Bruce inputs, and worries his lip between his teeth. That...is a point. They have  _no_ means by which to actually navigate the palace, and Bruce  _saw_ Asgard—if briefly—it wasn't exactly small. Bruce doesn't even know if Dr. Foster was  _in_  the palace—for all he knows it could have been some elaborate healing center in the middle of their fractured planet.

They didn't grill Thor for details, because they assumed they wouldn't  _need_ to. In 2013, they dragged Thor's sorry butt from England back to New York after they received word of the attack, but they...didn't really ask what happened. Thor mentioned something about the death of his mother and brother, and then went into a catatonic state that he abruptly arose from a week later and never brought up the events again.

Thor deals with grief by dodging it completely, and that hadn't occurred to Bruce until now.

So no. They won't be helpful, and likely lost for a few hours—maybe  _days_ as they try to find Thor and Rocket to give them the proper time-watches. They  _need_ someone who's been in Asgard before, but it can't wait more than fifteen hours. New Asgard isn't exactly their next door neighbor—and to be frank, Bruce doesn't really want to call on any of them except Brunnhilde, but she wouldn't be helpful.

Her last memories of Asgard—beyond what  _Bruce_ himself has—are outdated by more than a millennia.

Augh!

This feels  _impossible._

They were just supposed to collect the Stones and be done with it, but now three people are missing, one is  _dead,_ another got  _shot_ and—wait.  _Wait..._ what if... _what if..._

Oh gosh—No.

He shouldn't even be considering this. He shouldn't. He should step away from it in its entirety and—"Loki," Bruce blurts before he can stop it, and all heads turn towards him. Well, too late to back out now. Slowly, he appends: "Loki is Asgardian—he was their prince, remember?  _He'd_ know Asgard's palace. And Asgard. And— _he's here,_ right now."

Tony's eyebrows lift dangerously high.

"But...he's like…" Lang trails, clearly looking for the right descriptive word. Bruce can up with a couple, but none of them are very sweet.

Steve's stare is heavy, beyond tired, "Are we really considering this? How do we even know that he'd  _actually_ help us instead of lead is us in circles? Down here—that's our turf, up there…"

It's anyone's guess.

"What other choice do we  _have?"_ Rhodey questions, "We can't leave them there. We  _need_ to get the Aether and find Nebula so we can snap and be done with all this crap. We  _need_ to act swiftly, and he's  _here."_

"And  _shot,"_ Tony counters. Bruce's lips press together sharply at the reminder, and he mentally kicks himself. He was literally treating him a few minutes ago, but the injury had completely escaped his mind. The wound was messy, but clean enough. He hadn't gotten an opportunity to glance over the ribs with an X-Ray, so he doesn't know if it was clean breaks or not. Hopefully. He's already patched Loki together once for today, and digging for shattered bone fragments is something he refuses to do without an actual surgical team.

Bruce rubs at his forehead, "It was knitting itself together pretty quickly. If we give him a couple of hours maybe…"

"Do we even have hours?" Steve questions, "How is time passage between there and us?"

Tony shakes his head, "It's hard to determine. FRIDAY? Best guess?"

"With the Convergence, every fifteen minutes here appears to be one minute there, Boss," FRIDAY answers. Bruce swears under his breath. That's a lot less time than he was hoping for. That means that not only did the Convergence break their ability to transport them back  _here,_ it also cracked their time frame. Everything was only supposed to be a minute here, but now it's  _not._

Why didn't he double check his work!?

Why, why, why—!?

Steve's lips press together sharply, and he parts them with what looks like effort, "Okay. We can take those odds." He breathes out slowly, carefully, "Tony, Bruce, you should get working on fixing the time-watches to see it will work before we set this into stone. Me and Clint can take the journey there as Lang and Rhodey guard Nebula's double. We'll give Loki an hour and—" Steve stops abruptly, eyes wide and he releases a sharp cuss, "Did we  _leave_ anyone with him?"

Bruce feels color drain from his face.  _Crap, crap, crap—_ they ranted off about how his brother was missing and then ran off. Loki's  _going_ to do something stupid, and—

"Loki is still in the medical room," FRIDAY answers before they can all spiral into a panic. She, Bruce notes distantly, pointedly doesn't mention what  _state_ he's in.

Rhodey exhales softly, "Alright, we'll check up on him and explain the situation to Clint. You two," he gestures towards him and Tony, "get to working on those watches. Triple check your work this time."

Bruce barely represses a flinch.

000o000

Loki makes it as far as out of bed before his body announces it strong disagreement with his actions and he tumbles face-first to the floor. His hands take a majority of the jolt, and his injured shoulder cries  _loudly_ before giving out entirely _._ Loki's breath escapes him sharply and he falls to his right side, curling in on it as he tries to breathe through the pain.

In.  _Out._ In—His lungs sound ragged; and wet. That cannot have good implications.

Yes. He can  _feel_ his ribs grinding beneath his skin, and  _that—_ that is on a general level of terrible. He exhales slowly, trying to withhold an open wince as he pushes himself up into a seated position. Everything hurts in a way it has not in some time.

Curse Midnight's stupid staff and  _his_ inability to dodge.

What was he even  _doing—_ That. He was doing  _that._ Thor. The stupid Midgardians  _lost_ his brother, but  _how_ still evades him. Scott Lang was not exactly generous with the information he was spitting out in a panic.

_They lost him._

Loki felt the sharp sever as the mental link between them was cut, but simply assumed it was Thor being pulled back in time by whatever device they concocted to do so. Evidently  _not._  Whatever Thor strapped around his hand earlier is missing, likely taken when Bruce cut off his shirt, and he's assuming that it's what they were using to take the jumps.

He would have liked to study it, but that is of no matter.

Not  _now._

Thor. Thor is still—what even  _possessed_ him to think that it was perfectly fine to send his brother by himself? He knew— _he knew—_ that whatever the Midgardians had drawn together would be unstable. It is of their nature. Without using the Time Stone, they were bound to fail at  _some point,_ and to assume that all would be well with their trivial tools was foolishly arrogant of him.

And now they lost his brother.

Loki is going to kill them after he learns what can be done.

He's still breathing hard, and forces himself to steady.  _Curse_ his stupid body! This is not the way that battle was supposed to go. Asgard's survivors were supposed to leave  _with Thor_ and Loki would have bargained himself for their lives with the Master. That would be  _that._

Instead, Thor, stupidly selfless— _as always now—_ shoved him off to take care of the citizens, but he wasn't nearly as optimistic about their survival with him as his older brother was. Now, most of Asgard's sedirmasters are dead, Thor is  _missing,_ and he's been pulled into something he hardly understands.

He needs to get  _up._

He has to find Thor.

Loki bites at his lower lip sharply, and tries to reach up and grab at the bedpost, but his fingers slip and his head rams against the frame instead. He grimaces openly as the world blurs momentarily, and presses his mouth into a thin line.

 _Up._ Up, up—

Another attempt yields the same fruits, and Loki quietly breathes out a sigh of frustration. At least no one is  _here_ to see his weakness, but it matters very little. If he could get to his feet, he'd be closer to dragging Thor's sorry butt out of whatever disaster he landed himself as the epicenter of,  _again,_ and then his older brother will be safe.

Alive.

Thanos wouldn't be close to—

Stop that. Thor is alive, he's  _mostly_ fine, and— _Loki has no idea where he is._ Midgardians tried time jumping without the Time Stone, and the effects are going to be disastrous. Thor might not even come back  _whole._

Loki hisses through his teeth and tilts his head towards ribcage, dragging his right hand up to press against the broken and fractured ribs. His sedir supply is as drained of energy as he is, but he grasps as the last tenderals, despite the dull ache, to fold the bones back into place. His natural healing is a mess and has been since Svatherheim—before then—and he doesn't trust it to accomplish this fast enough.

He squeezes his eyes shut and bites sharply at a groan that threatens to escape him from the pain. It is used as a form of  _torture_ to heal this quickly, and now he's forcing it upon himself. Not as if it isn't anything he  _hasn't_ felt before, but it isn't pleasant all the same.

A sensation of cold ripples through his veins, and Loki nearly pitches forward to vomit up blood.

He can feel everything grinding beneath his skin, and it's  _sickening._ The hand. Is the hand  _his_ or someone else's? Five fingers or  _six?_ Is it—? Stop.  _Stop. Stop. Stop._ Now is not the time for this. He's not going to spiral backwards when there are more pressing matters at hand, not that he's usually given much of a choice.

Loki grabs at the memories and stuffs them firmly to the side to contemplate about later.

The bones reattach at last, snapping together and Loki's vision blurs, but he keeps himself quiet by keeping his teeth firmly on his tongue; he tastes blood. Inhaling raggedly, he tries not to gag at the odd Midgardian smells.

Are they even  _aware_ how much scent they leave everywhere?

They could easily suffocate someone without putting too much effort into it.

Loki digs his sedir across his ribcage again, feeling at the fractures and openly winces at the sensation. The bones are righting themselves and the constriction is making it hard to breathe, but it's getting  _better,_ and that's enough.

He'd already done what he could for his hand as he and Thor were talking earlier (Norns, that was less than an hour past, but it feels like it's already been years. He was only on the  _Statesmen_ as of two hours ago), but his shoulder...that is a different story. His skin and tissue have always been more sensitive about burns than any other injury, and, given his  _true_ heritage, it makes a bitter sort of sense.

He shakes his head again.

Hmm, focus is thin today.

His sedir draws away from the injury suddenly, and Loki exhales in deep relief, drawing his hand back. Sorcery has done all it can, now he needs to wait for his body to accept the healing, or spend the next few hours vomiting as he claws off layers of skin to try and appease the unsettled tissue. It's always a fifty-fifty, which is another reason that Eir always discouraged him from this course of action when he was apprenticed to her.

_Eir._

She was on the  _Statesmen,_ but Loki doesn't know if she stayed behind after the Valkyrie took those unable to fight and fled. She could still be on the ship to take whatever fate the Master offers her, or hiding with the Valkyrie's refugees. Personally, he hopes for the latter.

This doesn't  _matter._ Not  _now._

Carefully, slowly, Loki grabs onto the edge of the bedframe and drags himself upright. His body tingles uncomfortably, nerves tensing before unlocking and the sensation is deeply unsettling. He worries his lip between his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut.

_Breathe._

Loki gently rubs at his left shoulder, underneath the blast wound, and his stomach twists with discomfort when he realizes that the scars are visible. He's done  _so well_ on hiding them since 2012, but  _this_ is what finally makes him slip.

_Pathetic._

He blows out through his teeth and quietly pleads with Thor to  _not_ need him to slay a dragon or something equally destructive. His sedir is spent, and his body is close to following, but he's  _not_ leaving Thor to whatever the Midgardian's "lost" him in.

Loki shakes his head and smooths his hair away from his face, grimacing a little as he realizes how disgusting it feels, and then pulls the spare set of leathers from his magical cache. Most everything that he used to summon and switch between was on Asgard, and, after Surtur, that's no longer and option. The only set of official armor he had was from Sakaar, and it didn't survive the battle with the Black Order.

He smooths the clothing down and shifts it a little so it's not digging into the bandages around his left shoulder.

He wants to lay down and  _sleep._

The door to the room opens suddenly, and Loki whips his head up as his body clenches with adrenaline, but there's little need, as the captain steps into the room. His face is pinched and blond hair a mess, but his blue eyes rapidly jump across the space until they land on him, and then the man visibly slumps a little.

He opens his mouth, but Loki's patience has slipped. They haven't the time for pleasantries.

"What did you do to my brother?" Loki's voice is hard, and he doesn't bother to change that.

The man's jaw snaps shut, and he stands still for a second, then: "Nothing."

Ha.

Loki lifts his eyebrow a little, but he keeps his face clean of his growing frustration. "You must think me crass or deaf, Captain," Loki muses without mirth, "I heard what Scott Lang said, so, again, I ask you:  _What_ did you do to my brother,  _Captain?"_

Rogers flinches a little at that, and his lips press into a thin line before he parts them with what looks like effort: "How much did Thor tell you about what we're doing?"

Not  _nearly_ enough, but that much he has come to expect from his sibling. The blond can be so frustratingly vague at times. Loki's fingers twitch a little, but he doesn't say the first words that pop into his head, which is nothing admirable for the Avengers team. Instead, he says, "Enough. You're collecting the Stones, yes?" Loki confirms, and Rogers gives a slight nod, looking drastically uncomfortable.

Oh, for the love of the Norns, Loki isn't going to  _bite_ him.

"Good. You know the jist, then. You're going to help us," Rogers says.

Loki's eyebrows lift a little and he has to bite back an open laugh. "Am I? _"_

Rogers hesitates, but continues anyway, " _Because_ this involves Asgard. Thor returned to get the Aether, and our way to travel...slipped. Unless we go get them personally, this is it. We have no idea where they'll be on Asgard."

"It".

They have no idea what they're doing.

They  _lost his sibling in the folds of time._

Perhaps a quick death would be to much of a mercy.

"And what am  _I_ to do about that?" Loki questions sharply, fidgeting on his feet but trying not to be obvious about it. "You've come to the wrong man if you expect me to have a  _map_ you can borrow. Unless it has otherwise changed in the last years, Asgard became a supernova."

"We need a navigator, not a map," Rogers explains hurriedly, "and you're the only person close by who can help with that."

Loki struggles to keep his jaw from openly falling.

_What?_

This... _what?_

Loki's picks sharply at his left palm with his right hand, "Navigation," he repeats, more confused than he openly cares to admit, "you want...I'm to lead you across Asgard so you can find Thor and then…?"

"Tony's working on creating a new time—" Rogers cuts himself off, blowing out a breath, apparently realizing that whatever he was about to say will either reveal too much information, or Loki won't understand. He's voting on the former, "—means of travel through time," Rogers corrects himself, "we're going to give them that and hopefully this time it will work."

Loki barely withholds a scoff, "I'm to place my life and that of my brother and in the hands of "hopefully"?" He's not stupid. He knows what "hopefully" looks like on a battlefield.

Rogers hesitates, opens his mouth as if to say something, closes it, and then tries again, voice hard: "You come with us and help us, or we'll leave you here with Nebula."

Loki's entire spine seizes, and he feels his expression drop open with a ragged horror. No.  _No._ He'd rather chew of his own hand slowly than—Rogers can't... _Midgardians._ Of  _course_ he's serious. So ignorant, so unaware of  _anything._ The next time he and that sadist are in the same room, only one of them will walk away from it.

And it won't be  _her._

_My father's been meaning to speak with you, Little King._

Loki's stomach twists sharply, and he levels Rogers with a hard stare. The captain doesn't back off, but adjusts his stance to hold truth to his words. Loki scowls and bites sharply at his inner gums. "Fine," he breathes out stiffly, "what must I do?"

Roger's closes his eyes for a second, clearly relieved, before he shifts a little, "We need to know where Dr. Foster would have been during the invasion. That's where Thor and Rocket are going to be, but we don't know how to get there."

Admittedly:  _he_ has no idea where Ms. Foster would be at this time. Details of his mother's death he had to learn through spread gossip, because, as Odin, he couldn't walk up to someone and demand to know how Queen Frigga died—Odin was  _there,_ Loki wasn't.

But, if his mother was killed in the skirmish to get the Aether...then Ms. Foster was  _likely_ with her, and that also indicates that she was close by. Loki would guess a guest bedroom in the Queen's private quarters, or a room near hers; but Ms. Foster could have also been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It is of no matter, he supposes, he has tracking spells. That should suffice if it gets to that point—what is he worried about? They aren't looking for  _Jane,_ they're looking for  _Thor,_ and Loki can find his sibling's magical aura within the grounds of the palace with ease. He's done so hundreds of times before, this will be a menial task, which is good, because he doesn't think he can handle anything more intense than that.

Loki wets his split lips, "When are we to leave?"

"As soon as possible," Rogers answers, adjusting his shield a little. Loki nods again, and then straightens his slumped posture as discreetly as he can. Judging from the slight narrowing of the captain's eyes, he wasn't quite as successful as he was hoping.

Loki pointedly flicks his gaze away.

The captain breathes out slowly, evenly, before he tilts his head towards the doorway, taking a step into the awaiting hall, "This way."

The walk towards their destination is taken in silence, and he's perfectly content with that. Loki does a better sweep of the room this time around as they step into it, noting the Midgardian vehicles all parked into one corner of the room and how the rest has clearly been hastily cleaned for this. The platform is raised a little, but without blurring vision it seems a little better put together.

Towards the corner of the farhand side of it, though, Loki can spot a hastily cleaned stain of red.

Blood.

_His._

The sight pulls on memories he'd rather not explore at the moment, and he grounds himself to the present by digging his nails sharply into his palms. Stark and Bruce are standing behind computer screens, rapidly speaking with one another as they stare at an equation for the Convergence. The latter half is incorrect, though, they put their decimal point in the wrong place, and the root box starts far to soon.

It's close enough for him to recognize, and he's mildly—if a little grudgingly—impressed by that.

Stark's gaze flicks up to him, sweeping pointedly up and down his frame for a second before averting his gaze and latching onto the captain with his stare. The man inhales tightly as Rogers comes to a stop beside the desk.

"Any progress?" The captain questions.

Loki flicks his gaze a little.  _Progress?_ Is the man really suggesting that Stark and Bruce do not even have the means by which this travel will work properly thought out?

Marvelous.

( _This is how they lost Thor. Their ignorance and pride lost his brother, and Loki wants—)_

"Not much," Stark admits, "FRIDAY is working to try and find Dr. Foster's notes on the Convergence, but we're not really getting anything. I'm pretty sure she didn't publicize it, probably at Thor's request. This is our revised equation, but it's still not working with  _anything,_ either."

Stark blows out a breath and his lips spread into a bitter smile, "We can bring back a foot and a hand now, so that's something, I guess."

The captain looks as doubtful as he feels. "That's progress?" Rogers asks with a grimace.

"Before it was only a few toes and a finger," Bruce inputs from behind the computer screen, and then looks up. His eyes widen as they land on him, and Loki tries not to shift restlessly behind the stare.

The man sets down his notepad and writing utensil, moving forward to stand in front of him. Loki remains still, but refuses to make eye contact with him. "You still look peaky," Bruce notes with a soft breath.  _Peaky?_ "Sit down," he flicks a hand towards the platform and Loki resists the urge to roll his eyes.

He's not a  _child,_ he knows how to care for himself. Loki's head tilts a little, but he nonetheless takes the indicated action. Stark seems a little discomforted by this, but he doesn't say anything on it.

Bruce turns to him, "Does it hurt any place more than another?"

"No," Loki says through gritted teeth. He wishes Bruce would  _stop_ with this pretense. The only reason they got along was because circumstances demanded so. Loki is just another patient. Another body to fix.

Bruce looks like he disagrees, and opens his mouth to likely announce such, but Stark calls something out to him, and the man hiding the monster turns away. Loki breathes a little easier to be out of his focus.

Stark and Bruce begin to verbally spar over the equation and matter of what to program their devices with, but are clearly making no progress. The two go around in circles for nearly two more minutes before Loki determines they aren't going to get there quickly. These men do not study the stars frequently. Thor did, and it was one of the few places their interests aligned.

He tilts his head towards them. "Your equation is wrong," he states blankly, and the two of them stop to look at him unison. Stark releases a slow, patient breath that gives off the impression Loki is a difficult child he has to deal with, but would rather not. Bruce flicks out a pencil towards him.

"Your an astrophysicist now?" He sounds skeptical.

"A  _what?"_ Loki demands, sitting up a little straighter and then shakes his head, "Do you mean someone who studies stars?"

"More like the physics of space," Stark corrects, "but he's got a point."

Ah. There it is. After spending so much time apart from being  _himself—_ so much time wasted under the guise of his father—he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be doubted at everything that slips from his lips. Thor was doing better at taking his advice into consideration on the  _Statesmen,_ and Loki rarely spoke with any of the citizens. He was too busy helping the healers.

But still—this is aggravating. He has had a  _milliena_ to collect knowledge, and, given the fact that he wasn't  _good_ at doing anything else on Asgard, he's acquired a sizeable amount. If Asgard was still standing, Loki would summon the books that he knows have been written on this and slam it over their heads.

The thought is more pleasing than it probably should be.

Loki flicks his gaze up towards the ceiling, "For the love of the Norns," he says under his breath, "I was  _raised_ on Asgard, the Convergence is taught there like how Midgardians teach their youth how plants create sugar. Photo...sysis or something."

"Synthesis," Rogers corrects.

Same difference. Loki waves a hand, "No matter. Still. That," Loki points towards the latter half of their equation, "is the basics to create a—" what do they  _call_ it here? "—blackhole. It's part of the Bifrost's setup. You are looking for why the worlds are falling into alignment, which looks a lot closer to swelling star."

None look convinced, and Loki resists the urge to tug on his hair and leans forward to snatch Bruce's paper and writing utensil off the desk, "Listen. What  _we_  call Yggdrasil is the orbit of the planets around the blackhole in the center of this galaxy. When the Convergence happens, the worlds are getting too close to the...horizon point, I believe you call it here, and begin to collide with each other. The force of sedir binding the worlds together causes this collisions to appear as "portals" rather than explosions or death."

Loki lifts up his sketch of Yggdrasil for the three men to look at, "When we pass  _around_ the horizon point into free space again," he traces the black hole with the tip of his writing utensil, "the Convergence is over. There, basic Asgardian childhood taught."

Loki pulls the notepad back and begins to scribble on the corner, "The equation you're looking for to indicate that is  _this_ ," Loki scribbles down the complex numbers rapidly, "but that hardly matters. What you  _need_ is the location of Earth around the horizon point in order to jump through a wormhole to that time in space, which, given that year, resides within  _these_ numbers."

Loki slams the paper onto the desk, and all three of the men stare at him wordlessly. Rogers looks like he might start gawking, Stark is a close second, and Bruce's eyebrows are in danger of flying off of his face.

Loki waves his hand a little, uncomfortable, "This is basic sedir relativity."

He had to know it to learn how to cross between the worlds on his own. In ways that  _weren't_ just through the pre-established paths. Did...did he do something  _wrong?_ He can't tell. Why are they so  _quiet?_

Stark's jaw clamps shut audibly, and he picks up the piece of paper to look at it before lifting his gaze up to Loki, "Oh my gosh, Thor completely undermines your brain," Stark breathes, "I cannot believe that you just draw a to-scale model of the galaxy with a freakin'  _black hole._ This is amazing."

Loki feels his eyes go wide.

Stark turns to his companion, "Bruce, start typing that up, I'll pull up our test phases, and we'll run this forwards, backwards, and any other angle we can think of to test it properly. To actually get it to  _work_ this time. No failures. We're going to get them back. And the Aether. Whatever it takes."

Rogers nods, murmuring the last three words under his breath in agreement. The captain looks up at them, "We should tell Clint that we're preparing to leave; we need to be as swift with this as possible."

Loki's fingers dig sharply into his palms.

The Hawk.

He...didn't realize that this would require him to  _work_ with the man. Perhaps...he was a little—stupidly—optimistic that he could avoid him for a majority of his stay here. However long it will be.

Twenty minutes later, after Barton pointedly ignores his existence—not that he  _wants_ the attention anyway—he's standing on the platform with the captain and Barton, the devices strapped to their right hands.

Stark hands Rogers the remaining extras as Bruce types something up on the computer, "We don't have enough pym partials for you guys to do this more than once, even with what Scott grabbed from Pym's lab as we got the Tesseract, so no basksies, 'kay?" Stark confirms, his tone is light, but it's without humor.

"Got it," Rogers assures, "we'll do it once."

_As they should have at first._

Stark gives his shoulder a quick squeeze, and holds an anxious stare with Barton before glancing at him for a second. "Come back, or I swear your end will be painful."

Barton gives a dry laugh, but its strained. "Thanks, Tony."

Stark gives a thumbs up, and, his face tightens a little, "Good luck guys, we'll see you in a few minutes." With that stated, the three of them lift up their hands, twist the devices, and Loki feels a fierce tug rip through his stomach before he's jerked backwards in time.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #WhenYouAccidentallySolveTheConvergence. #Whoops.
> 
> I mean, guys, they don't explain it, like, at all physics-wise, well, they try and fail. So hopefully this makes sense. More sense...um...(I mean, you have to know where Earth is located in space to be able to jump in and out of portals, and that's what they're doing in a sense, so I'm just...this is why it's hard to watch things you know stuff about, haha).
> 
> Okay, announcement! In and effort to calm down from an intense anxiety attack a couple days ago, I was messing around with writing and wrote out the whole "When Steve and Nat get captured by the Japanese terrorists" thing! =D Yay! (It sounds terrible to be excited about this). It should be available now, so, if you're interested, URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19124479 (Or, because it's easier, just go through my stories list. :) Title: Counting Numbers Instead of Sleep)
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your support! You're amazing! Hugs! =) Until chapter 7.
> 
> ***Note: June 15, 2019: Due to a sudden drop in both my physical and mental health, chapter 7 has been delayed. :) My apologies! I don't know when I'll be ready to post it again, but hopefully soon. Love you all! =D Free hugs for everyone!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In Mushu voice* I liiiiiivveeeee! Oh my gosh, I am SO sorry about the wait. Moral of the story guys, do NOT put me on a roller coaster. (Gosh, the first time I've been on one was about three weeks ago now, and I'm how old?) Anxiety is a real thing. Haha. Anyway. This whole chapter feels like a disaster wrapped with a bow, but hopefully it...isn't as awful as I'm fearing.
> 
> You're all amazing! Thank you for your continued interest and support!
> 
> #Disclaimed! Not mine!
> 
> Warnings: None.

* * *

 

"Do you know how to knock?" Rocket questions from his left, "Because you've been standing there motionless for a lot longer than I find comfortable."

Thor makes a little face of annoyance towards the raccoon, and forces himself to breathe out deeply. They landed on Asgard a little over twenty minutes ago, have already snuck through the palace grounds, and tracked down Jane's quarters with minimal difficulty. Now they both stand outside of the door to her quarters as Thor attempts to build up the courage to knock.

_Knocking. He can knock. This is fine._

His hands are sweaty and his heart is beating wildly within his chest. He should have let Loki come because this would have been so much easier to have Jane simply be unconscious instead of having to  _talk_ to her, and—

His right knuckles tilt to press against the wood, but freeze before he can make contact.

Nope.

He can't do this.

He  _cannot do_  this.

His feet tilts on a lurch to flee, but Rocket grabs at his boot before he can make any ground, "Okay, stop right here, blondie," the raccoon demands, and Thor shakes his head rapidly. No, he needs to  _leave;_ the last conversation he had with Jane was a disaster and he doesn't want a repeat of that.  _It wasn't a mutual dumping. It was never a mutual dumping._

"Breathe," Rocket commands, rubbing in between his eyes with his other paw. "Ugh, I swear, if you pass out...I'm not dragging you around, got it?"

Perfectly.

Thor gives a little nod, and Rocket smiles thinly in response. "Good. Listen, I'm not one for pep talks, and frankly I'm terrible at them, so let's just do this, yeah?" His voice drops all humor and he points at the door, "If you don't go in there and talk with the pretty lady, everyone stays dead.  _Everyone."_

That...that's  _terrible_ inspiration.

Rocket shoves him, "Go on. Woo her."

Woo  _her?_ Does he even  _hear_ himself?

Thor grits his jaw and tries to dig his tongue out of its hiding place as he rapts on the door several times. His stomach plummets to his feet,  _w_ _hat did he do, what did he do, what did he—?_

The door opens, and, rather than Jane like he was previously expecting, a sharp voice questions: "Who are you?"

Thor's head whips up in surprise to meet it. There...oh,  _Norns_ he's an idiot. Jane was his guest, sick, and a foreigner to the planet. He completely forgot that she was never really alone in her stay here. She had attendants to help her not get lost, pass out, or a wild flurry of other that was running around. Thor thought he'd pulled at a time that would leave Jane alone the longest, but—

Madame Eir.

That's  _Madame Eir,_ the head healer of Asgard.

Well. Crap.

Thor meets Rocket's gaze briefly before he backs up from the door with his hands raised. Rocket lifts up his excessively large gun, and Thor mentally face palms.  _Violence doesn't solve anything!_ "Listen, lady—" Rocket starts.

Madame Eir's eyes narrow, and she tosses her graying blonde hair over her shoulder. Faintly, Thor can hear Jane's voice asking who it is behind the Aesir. His stomach drops to his feet, he hasn't heard her speak in almost six years. Norns, he has  _missed_ her. Madame Eir shifts to block as much of the doorway as she can, scowling, and quietly chides: "You shouldn't be here. This is a guest of the royal family and you're disturbing them."

Norns—he must  _really_ look awful if the woman who cared for his injuries since  _birth_ can't recognize him on the spot. Nonetheless, he's not taking any chances. In a swift move that probably would have gotten him bitten in a different scenario, he grabs the back of Rocket's collar, swinging the raccoon onto his back and  _runs._

Mamade Eir shouts something loudly in surprise, before calling for the Einherjar. Thor ducks a corner and hisses sharply under his breath.  _Forbannelser._

Rocket curses audibly, and shifts to turn around, lifting his gun, "Well that went well. Can I shoot them?" He questions. Thor ducks behind a column and shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Distantly, vaguely, in the midst of everything else that was happening with the Aether, Thor can remember Fandral trying to explain to him that Madame Eir went to check up on Jane and ran into two strangers that were never found.

He hadn't deemed it important, tossing it off to the side as two servants. No one brought it up after that, and he'd almost forgotten about it completely. It's a relief, he supposes, to finally know the answers to who it was.

He's not letting Rocket kill his people.

He's desperate, not a tyrant.

 _You do not belong here._ The whisper is back, the nagging pull in his bones demanding that he leave this time. He wasn't on the  _Statesmen_ long enough for it to radiate anything uncomfortable beyond a faint aura, but now it is a whisper.  _You do not belong here._

Rocket breathes out loudly in frustration, "Dang it. How about I just take out that part of the ceiling, put a dent in their chase?"

Thor shakes his head again, moving forward slowly. Rocket shifts a little on his back to gain better perching. "Well if I can't use a gun, and you won't let me blow anything up, how  _do_ you expect to get out of this? Present them with Groot's sticker collection?"

His  _what?_

Thor's eyebrows meet in confusion, and he tilts his head back to try and question, but Rocket quickly appends, "Don't ask. He was really into them when he was younger." The raccoon breathes out quietly, and the air ruffles the top of Thor's head making an uncomfortable twitch jerk down his spine. "Listen, sparkles, I can hear them coming so if you've got a grand plan now's the time to start acting on it."

Uh...no. He has no grand plan. His one goal right now is to get away so they can  _think._ They weren't supposed to run into Madame Eir, and  _this wasn't supposed to happen._

Thor shrugs lightly, and ducks into the open hall beginning to run again. He's been down these halls hundreds of times before. There's a passage in rooms near here that leads to the tunnels interconnecting the oldest parts of the building, and if they can get  _there,_ they should be safe for a few hours. Not many people beyond the elderly and the royal family are aware of it's existence anymore.

They just need to make it there.

Yeah, they can do that.

Rocket keeps a firm grip on his shoulder, and Thor's limbs are beginning to relax with relief before he turns the corner to lead to the rooms and runs smack face-first into someone. Rocket is thrown off of him, and Thor stumbles backwards in a dazed panic and grabs at the arms of the other person to steady them, apologies trying to bubble out of his throat. He should have been  _looking,_ Norns curse it all, because now he's possibly compromised the mission entirely and—

"Thor?"

Oh  _Norns._

Thor's hands snap away from his mother entirely, and his senses buzz deeply in distress as his chest heaves with open panic.  _Oh, Norns, norns, norns—_ he broke the laws of time. Loki would have flat out  _murdered_ him on the spot if he was with them.

His mother is  _right here_ and—

"Son? What's of the matter? I thought that you…" Frigga trails, and then stops as her gaze settles on his face. He's never been terribly self conscious of the eye-patch before, but suddenly he wishes he hadn't thrown out Rocket's offering of an eye in the midst of a dazed panic after Thanos's beheading.

Thor stutters out a few noises, and then glances towards Rocket—alive and well, though looking a little flustered—and grabs at the time-watch on his hand, twisting it firmly. They can try this again. They can take the Aether from its undisturbed resting place some millennia before this, and not have to deal with Jane again period.

Or his  _mother._

He sees Rocket take the cue from the corner of his eye and twists his own watch, but nothing happens. There is no now familiar lurch through time as they're shrunk, no armor spreading over their bodies. The time-watch is locked, but it doesn't do anything.

Horror drops to his toes.

No.

_No._

_This wasn't supposed to happen!_

They were  _supposed_ to collect the Aether and then leave! That would be  _that._ No more of this running around nonsense and—A loud expletive escapes him, and he twists at the watch again, and again, and again, but doesn't get any different results.

_They aren't going back._

_They're stuck in 2013._

"...You're not my Thor, are you?" Frigga murmurs softly, and Thor looks up at her desperately.

She's not supposed to see him! He's made enough messes as it is, and he doesn't need to leave one on  _this_ day, the one that she's supposed to  _die_ on. Look at the mess he's made. The ugly, big, huge—

Frigga gives a little head shake, resting a hand on his shoulder, "I was taught by witches, boy. I know a time warp when I see one," she sighs slightly and looks down the hall at the sound of the Einherjar. His mother grabs at his wrist and begins to pull him forward. Too dazed and shocked to be doing much else, Thor follows after her wordlessly. "Come," Frigga insists, waving a hand towards Rocket.

"I swear, lady," Rocket hisses under his breath, gripping a hand around his gun, "no attempted murders."

Frigga's lips curve up, "None," she swears.

She tugs them into a small room that Thor knows is used as a music room for the children of the servants and aids of the palace, and forces them to take a seat on one of the couches as she closes the door and wards it some. Thor sees Rocket continuing to fiddle with the time-watch from the corner of his eye, but nothing changes.

Frigga sits down on the small table in front of them, her eyes lingering on Rocket's device for a long moment. "What are you doing here?" She questions calmly. Her serenity makes Thor want to grab at his hair and  _scream._ The pressure refuses to alleviate, and he has no idea how to make this any better.

_You do not belong here._

Thor makes a little noise in the back of his throat, and Rocket flicks a paw, "Yeah, sorry, Majesty, but he doesn't talk no more. I'm the interpreter. He says that we can't tell you because it's secret.  _Shh._ " He lifts a claw to his lips for the universal sign of silence.

Thor's gaze flicks to his feet in humiliation.

He's supposed to be better than this.

"What?" Frigga murmurs, and gently tips his chin up so he's looking at her again, his skin shivers beneath her touch. It's been  _so long._  "Did something happen to your tongue?"

Thor gives a slow shake of his head.

"Your voice?"

Another shake.

Frigga's eyes narrow, and Rocket rests a reassuring hand on Thor's upper arm for a second, "Yeah, a diagnosis hasn't been satisfactorily determined yet, so I wouldn't push.  _Augh_!" He hisses as one of the wires in the time-watch zaps him.

"What is this?" His mother questions, lifting up the device on Thor's hand.

"Means of travel," Rocket grumbles, "but it's broken."

Thor makes a squeaking sound in the back of his throat and tilts his head forward to rest against his knees. Oh, Norns above, this is a  _disaster._ He's never going back to 2023. He's not going to see Loki again, nor the other Avengers, they won't reverse the snap, and Thanos will remain victor.

He failed.

"Ah." Frigga hums, but is still clearly confused. "Would you mind giving me and my son a moment alone? There's a room extended to this that has musical instruments. If you don't  _touch_ anything, you are welcome to continue to fiddle there. When we have finished, I can attempt to help you with my sedir."

Thor almost sees the raccoon roll his eyes, but he nonetheless gets to his feet. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure magic will solve all of this." His tone is meant to be mocking, but Thor can hear the undertone of worry in it. Rocket isn't someone to reveal his distressed emotions openly, and this is a perfect example of that. Given everything that has happened today  _alone,_ Thor thinks that Rocket is doing an admirable job of not showing his open panic.

Frigga doesn't say anything in response, and Rocket exits the room.

"Thor," Frigga's voice is gentle, and she rests a hand on his head softly. Thor flinches to it, but his mother doesn't draw her hand away, instead beginning to stroke his hair. A warm feeling washes through him, and Thor nearly vomits. Frigga's sedir. Checking him for injuries, because she doesn't trust that he would tell her the truth.

Reasonable.

But it still stings.

_You do not belong here._

"My darling son," Frigga sighs, and gently begins to untangle a knot in his hair. "You look  _haggard._ When was the last time you ate something?"

Thor shrugs.

He can feel the stare of her disapproval, and shrivels beneath it. Frigga's hands settle on his head for a second, and the sensation is oddly comforting. Warm. "Hmm. Worry not, Dearheart, I am not angry."

Everyone is.

Somewhere, she probably is, too.

Thor sighs.

"Thor," Frigga's voice is still so gentle. As if he is something broken that she must take caution around. "You are safe here. You must know that."

Thor lifts his head to look up at her and she slides her hands down to take his, blue eyes gently searching his face. How...why does this  _matter_ if he is safe or not? He swallows and parts his lips, trying to fight at that awful monster that grabs at his voice.

His first attempt fails, as does his second, third, and fourth, but Frigga is patient and doesn't let irritation show on her face.

It's reassuring.

Thor mouths the words several times before a proper, squeaked syllable slips out: "Sorry." His mind  _reels_ with this revelation. He spoke. He  _always_ has to wait for the monster to release him before he can find success in this, and he  _didn't. How…?_

Frigga gently smooths her thumb over his palm, and the sensation of her touch makes his skin coil beneath the surface in discomfort. "What for?" Frigga questions.

Thor swallows again, trying not to get his hopes up too high should this attempt fail as well, "I...failed you, 'm sorry," Thor flicks his wide eyes to their feet, but Frigga tilts his face back up to him, waiting until he's met her eyes before she speaks:

"I'm certain that, given whatever happened, you tried your utmost. That's all that matters to me, Thor."

Gaining confidence, Thor blurts out: "But I let everyone die." Frigga's brow furrows a little and Thor begins to explain, but the further he goes along the faster his voice picks up speed: " _All_ of them, Mother, and I didn't...this man gathered the Infinity Stones together and killed half of the population,  _everywhere,_ and it's my fault because I didn't go for the head and now the Avengers are furious at me and I was supposed to fix this, but instead I let Loki die and now me and Rocket are stuck here because the time-watches aren't working and we  _didn't_ get the Aether to fix what happened, and, and,  _and—_ the blood falls onto my hands. I've spent the last few years hearing that too much to think about anything else.

"I'm so sorry Mother, I'm sorry that you have a failure for a son. I'm not worthy to be speaking with you," Thor breathes out the last part, and Frigga makes the face he's long since come to associate with when she's uncertain how to respond. She makes a humming noise, and then gives his hands a quick squeeze. Thor pinches his eyes closed, "I'm not worthy to  _speak."_

Trillions dead at  _his_ hand because he couldn't go for the head.

Frigga sighs quietly.

"...I don't think that I understand fully what is going on, but, Thor...failure doesn't make you unworthy." Frigga says softly, Thor looks up at her, a disagreement on his tongue. She presses her fingers to his lips to silence him, "Hush, child. The state of here," she presses a finger against his forehead, and then at his heart, "and here is what matters. You may be sick in the mind, Son, but that does not change your  _identity._ You have been, and always will be  _worthy._ I do not disregard the child I have watched become a man I am proud of for  _one_ mistake."

Thor's breath catches, but he squeezes his eyes shut, " _Half_ of  _everyone,_ Amma," he whispers, "half of…"

"Oh, shush," she chides mildly, "you'll find a way to fix it. You always do."

Not...not this time. Not without the Aether, not without the time-watches working properly. Norns, what are they supposed to  _do?_ They failed the one mission they had and Thor has no ideas on how to fix it now that they're stuck here.

Maybe permanently.

_You do not belong here._

_On the Nine—!_

The door to the room is thrown open suddenly, and Thor jumps wildly, hand straying to grab for a weapon (there isn't one. Hela destroyed Mjonlir five years past, and he left Stormbreaker on the  _Statesmen_ because he forgot it after he and Loki's battle), but his hand only meets empty air. His eyes flit widely as Frigga rises to her feet in front of him, fingers glowing a soft white from power.

Thor's eye widens as he sees who steps into the room. First is Steve, shield raised at the ready, behind him is Clint with his bow lifted, and in the back is Loki.  _None of them are supposed to be here._ What are they doing here? How did they  _get_ here?

Loki shoves his way to the front, irritation on his face as he lowers his hand. The tracking spell that was flickering on his palm ceases, and Thor's stomach flips several times. Norns, Norns,  _N_ _orns—_ it was bad when Frigga found them before, but this—this is  _so much_ worse.

"Thor, I swear on the Nine that you are better equipped for finding places of cover. Have you truly lost so—oh," Loki's eyes flick across the room as he speaks before landing on Frigga and settling there. Wordlessly, his lips part a little before his jaw snaps shut.

Thor rises unsteadily to his feet beside their mother, and sees Frigga's face soften from the corner of his eye as she lowers her hands. "Loki," she breathes. "How did you...no, I'm…" her brow flickers with confusion.

Steve and Clint share a look of something Thor can't quite place.

Everyone remains standing still for a second before Loki moves forward rapidly and throws his arms around Frigga tightly.

Frigga startles a little at the sudden embrace, but steadies herself after a second lifting her hands up to return the gesture. "I'm sorry," Loki whispers, voice thick, "I'm so sorry, Amma. I never meant for this to...I'm sorry. I misjudged. I was angry. I didn't mean it. I swear. Oh, Amma, I swear that I didn't—"

"Shh," Frigga whispers, running a hand through his hair, "shh."

Thor bites sharply at his inner gums before catching Steve's eye. He jerks his head in the direction of the room Rocket ran off to a few minutes ago, and the three of them move towards it, leaving Loki and Frigga with a moment of privacy.

Rocket looks up from where he's sitting next to an instrument poking at the time-watch, glances over Steve and Clint, and then sighs a little. "I'm assuming you're here to fix the problem?" He questions, lifting up the time-watch, "'Cause I've seen pieces of centuries old garbage work better than this."

"Don't let Tony hear you say that," Clint mutters. Thor anxiously rubs a hand over the watch, gnawing on his inner lip for a second.

Steve flicks his gaze to the archer for a second, shifting the shield to rest against his back, "I'm assuming that both of you've already tried and failed to go back if you're trying to fix it?" Both of them give hesitant nods. Steve blows out a breath, "Alright, Tony and Bruce put together updated versions," he lifts up two of the watches before handing them out.

Rocket tightens the time-watch around his paw, "Well. That's good. I'd rather not be stuck here and dead. What was the problem?"

"Math," Clint mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Thor's eyebrows meet and he shares a look of confusion with Rocket.

"Math." Rocket repeats, then nods a little. " _Math._ Okay."

Steve's lips thin a little and he flicks his gaze across both of them, obviously look for something before his eyebrows flicker, "Where is the Aether?"

Thor's gaze flicks to his feet. "I…" His voice is small. Barely in the realm of understanding, but all heads in the room settle on him at it. The attention makes him squirm, and Thor nearly takes a step back in discomfort.

Why did he think that speaking would be a good idea?

When he doesn't continue, Rocket lifts his gaze to the two Avengers, "We didn't get it."

"You  _what?"_ Clint demands sharply, "How could you have  _missed_ it? Loki didn't get us lost once when we traveled here, and now you're telling me that—"

"Clint," Steve rests a hand on the archer's shoulder, and the man visibly deflates. His jaw clenches tightly, and he turns his head sharply to the side.

Rocket's expression is dissembled, but there's a deep frustration in his paws. "Alright—listen, Birdfeed, you may have been off on some sort of kill-joy mission the last two months, but the rest of us have actually been  _working_ and we're all exhausted, yeah? So no, we  _didn't_ get the Aether because we weren't about to burst into a room that was about to be invaded by an Asgardian."

""Kill-joy"—!?" Clint repeats, looking as if he's been punched. Thor squeezes his eye shut and tilts his head back a little. That was out of line.  _Everyone_ knows that Clint didn't run off to murder the Japanese terrorists just because they survived the snap; what happened to Steve and Natasha was heart wrenching, and if Clint hadn't taken up the task himself, Thor's fairly certain the entire team would have assembled to arrest them.

But— _arrest,_ not murder.

Clint was…

Thor doesn't like to contemplate this much. The expression of desperation on Clint's face when he arrived in New Asgard before Natasha and Steve's rescue is something that will forever haunt him. ( _No one bothered to tell him that Natasha and Steve were_ missing  _until Clint arrived. He could have helped sooner, but apparently he can't even be trusted to know when his teammates have been stolen)._

"You think that was all some sort of vacation?" Clint gawks, "You  _saw_ what they  _did,_ you worthless piece of—"

"At least, rather than leave my teammate to  _die,_ we actually prioritized life over the stupid Infinity Stone—"

Thor's eye pops open at  _that,_ and Clint grabs at the hilt of his weapon, moving forward, "You—"

" _STOP IT!"_ Steve shouts. His face has drained of some color, but his hands are steady. The two snap their jaws shut, and look towards the captain. Clint with a downcast expression, but Rocket's chin is lifted a little with attitude. Steve runs a hand through his hair, "We have done  _nothing_ but snip and yell at each other since we got back from collecting the Stones and it has solved exactly nothing. Do you think that continuing this pattern is going to fix anything?"

No.

But Thor wouldn't exactly be shocked if it did proceed from this point on.

Steve breathes out slowly, "Listen, I understand that these aren't ideal circumstances. I would have preferred that everyone walked away as much as the next person, but this is no way to honor Nat  _or_ Nebula's memory—"

"Nebula  _isn't_  dead," Rocket seethes, "she's still alive. She's just not in the right time."

But...Steve brings up a valid point. What  _are_ the chances that Nebula's impostor would leave the real Nebula alive? It hadn't even occurred to him before now that she might be deceased, but...it makes little sense for her to still be living. And  _that..._

Thor's lips thin slightly, and Steve is silent for a long second, gathering his thoughts. "Rocket, I think that maybe—" He starts gently.

"No, shut it!" Rocket interrupts in a hiss, "I'm not going to pretend that you understand what it's like to lose everything, but Nebula was the  _only_ thing I had left. I'm going to find her when we get back, even if I have to spend years looking. I'm not going to be too late again."

Stiff silence hangs between them.

Thor's ideas on how to respond are thin, and he has his doubts that anything he  _tries_ to say will be helpful.

They are, thankfully— _and isn't it terrible that he doesn't want to discuss this? Some teammate he is, no wonder the Avengers pinned the blame so easily onto him—_ rescued as Loki steps into the room. Frigga isn't with him, and a gentle prodding of the space around them doesn't reveal her sedir's aura. He's been trained on recognizing magic since childhood, and Frigga's isn't  _here._

She dies today.

Thor was going to warn her.

He was going to  _save_ her.

Thor makes a move for the doorway, but Loki grabs at his shoulders tightly, "Thor, no—stop," Loki's voice is thick—he's crying, some distant, settled part of his brain explains—and his hands cold against Thor's arms, " _stop._ She left. I did all I could, but she left."

Thor shakes his head, "I'm supposed to save her," his voice is breathless, still hoarse, and sounds  _nothing_ like what he's familiar with. Loki pulls him further into the room despite his struggles.

No.

He can't do this again. Frigga was  _right there_ and he could have saved her. If he'd kept her in here long enough, he could have prevented Malekith's dreadful deed from happening at all. ( _No,_ a small pragmatic part of his mind disagrees,  _time doesn't work that way, fool)._

_You do not belong here._

"No," Loki's shaking his head, " _stop._ Thor, you can't—"

"I can't just  _let her die!"_ Thor argues, and his voice—his  _stolen, and still squirming voice—_ has bite. "Why are you letting her—!?"

"I'm  _not!"_ Loki hisses. "Thor, listen—"

Thor struggles harder, and manages to break free enough to shove Loki bodily to the side. Loki slams heavily into Clint, but Thor doesn't care. He breaks for the door again, but a blast of sedir knocks him off of his feet. He manages to catch himself somewhat, but his head still rams against the floor, drawing blood.

Loki's hand grabs at his wrist again, and Thor rears up onto his knees, fist glowing with lightning. The electricity is humming in his veins, now, ever present and ready to listen to his call. "SHE'S GOING TO DIE, LOKI! LET ME—"

" _I TOLD HER!"_

Thor stills, and the heat collected in his blood stops. The lightning on his fingers fizzles, and he looks his sibling in the eyes.  _A jest, please, let this be a jest—_ Loki gathers himself somewhat in a breath, "I told her," he repeats and bites on his lower lip when it trembles, "and she asked us not to interfere."

"What…?" Thor breathes.

"You know that our efforts would have been useless," Loki says quietly, "she still died that day no matter what plan you or I will concoct. She wanted to say goodbye in person, but Father called for her aid, and she couldn't...she said that she's proud of you, and that it's okay."

_No, it's not._

Loki wasn't the one who was supposed to be talking him into leaving her behind. Loki shouldn't have to. That should be his job. Thor squeezes his eye shut, and collapses back onto his knees. Loki stiffly moves beside him, close enough that their shoulders are touching.

The physical presence is reassuring, grounding almost, but Thor can still feel as his voice is clutched and pulled beneath the surface of his grasping. He's lost it again. Like he lost Mother and—it's best, perhaps, to not think to detailed on this.

"Thor," that's Steve's voice, but Thor doesn't bother to open his eyes to meet the soldier's, "listen...I understand, I promise, that you want to mourn, but we just don't have the time right now. We need to get the Aether so we can leave."

Loki shifts a little beside him, and Thor can almost see the little furrowing his eyebrows make in confusion before: "You didn't get the Aether?"

_Norns._

"No," Rocket snips, he sounds a lot closer than Thor remembers him, and he struggles not to jump in surprise, "we didn't. Would  _anyone else_  like to ask us that question?"

"Will you  _shut up_?" Clint questions heatedly, "You aren't doing anyone any good."

Norns. Are they really going to start this again? If they keep up the persistence, Thor is mildly afraid that Steve is going to self combust. The archer and mechanic got along so much better before all of this happened.

The Infinity Stones never do stop taking, do they? Life alone is not enough to satisfy their thirst.

"I'm sorry, would you like me to start handing out candy to children?" Rocket counters, "We're kind not exactly here on vacation, and I'd rather get back so we can rescue Nebula before something worse happens."

Loki's shoulder draws up tensely beside him, but Thor is still far too exhausted to open his eyes properly and make sure he's okay. This is pathetic. He's supposed to be looking out for everyone ( _as King of Asgard, he is the protector of the entirety of the Nine, not just Asgard)_ and he's doing a  _marvelous_ job of that. At least he took the head.

That's about all he's done in his regard as protector, and it didn't really help anyone, did it?

"Enough," Steve commands, "I swear, if I hear  _one more_ jibe from either of you—"

"You'll put us in time out?" Clint asks dryly. Thor hears sudden movement, and Steve exhales sharply. The tension is thick enough to swallow, and Thor doesn't like the taste of it.

"We're going to have to stay the night," Loki blurts abruptly, and Thor's eye pops open again at last to look up at his sibling. Loki's pointedly gazing away from him, hands crossed over his stomach. Rocket is standing a few feet away with a grim expression, and a glance at Steve and Clint shows that they're close. Steve's fists are clenched, and Thor is suddenly aware of how close Steve was to hitting Clint.

Norns, what have the Stones  _done_ to them?

Steve's head turns and he's quiet a second, as if trying to gain his composure first, "Why? Isn't Dr. Foster available at any given point today?"

...No.

She's not.

Thor sighs, shaking his head as Loki does the same. "The woman was assigned a guard for today. We're less than an hour from Malekith's first attack on Asgard, getting her alone will be almost impossible. After…" Loki wets his lips, visibly uncomfortable, "Tomorrow at sunset, as Thor smuggles her out of Asgard, there are more opportunities."

Not...not really. Not from what Thor can remember, but his memories of that day are mostly a blurred mess of panic and loss. He can't even recall anything of the events until his mother introduced herself to Jane.

Steve's shoulders slump, "That's a long time from now. Can we afford to wait?"

"We have to," Loki insists, and with what looks like some effort, hobbles to his feet. Wordlessly he offers his hand to Thor; after a moment of surprise, Thor grasps it. "We don't have much of a choice anymore."

Because he missed the window.

Because he couldn't knock on the door like he was supposed to.

"What about the lack of air?" Steve questions, and both he and his sibling stop completely, sharing a look of confusion.

His tongue refuses to work again, but Loki asks for both of them: "Beg pardon,  _what_?"

"Tony said that there was less air on Asgard than Earth and…" Steve trails as he and Loki's faces likely show their increasing disbelief without much restraint. "...it would be bad for lungs." Steve finishes lamely.

Oh.

_Oh!_

_That_.

Thor shrugs a little and Loki sighs audibly, muttering something under his breath before shifting forward and jabs Clint in the chest with one finger. Thor's stomach churns as the archer gasps sharply, hands coming to claw at the area, and Steve's shield raises, but, before he can do anything in defense or an assault, Loki's finger is jabbing the soldier in the same area. Steve visibly cringes, free hand coming to dig at the area as he gasps audibly.

"What the heck did you just  _do?"_ Rocket demands, gun powering. No. He's  _not_ going to shoot Loki again! Thor shifts forward to block any future attacks as Loki turns, waves a hand, and Rocket makes a squeaking noise. Thor recognizes the touch of Loki's magic on the raccoon before it draws back and his younger sibling's head tilts slightly, "Curious," he murmurs. Thor steps forward, question on his silent lips.

Steve inhales, but his breath is ragged. Clint's white face is beginning to show open panic, and his hand strays for a weapon as Thor recognizes what Loki  _did._ Oh. Given the circumstances, that was probably the best choice, but a  _warning_ would have been preferred.

Thor makes a pointed face in his brother's direction, and Loki sighs, looking exhausted as he pinches the bridge of his nose as if trying to rub at a headache. "Before you start to preform my murder, I have done nothing to harm you." Loki explains.

"Yeah." Clint gives a shaky laugh, deranged grin splitting across his lips, "Load of crap."

"I admit that the oxygen problem hadn't occurred to me," Loki says with a slight shrug. He looks pale and washed out, his face drained of color. How low  _is_  his sedir supply? Loki knows better than to let it drain so low and not replenish the energy. ( _They haven't had the time,_ his mind reminds in a sneer,  _you honestly think that food would have been a priority given everything else?)_ "But I've adjusted your bodies to Asgard's environment."

_You do not belong here._

"With a heart attack?" Clint questions, looking up at him with a scowl as he inhales several times, "Thanks."

Loki huffs a little, but inclines his head, "Of course."

Steve straightens somewhat, but his face is still white, "I'm…" he breathes out slowly, "I'm…" rubbing at his chest, his eyes widen a little with surprise. "That...actually helped."

As it should have. Thor's seen his sibling do it a few times before, and Madame Eir did much the same for Jane when she arrived; in the soul forge. He's forgotten about that. There's so much here that he's shoved to the side in an effort _to_  forget. He didn't want to remember, because the memories hurt too much.

Loki claps his hands together, and all their eyes lift to him, "Well. With that settled and the chances of cardiac arrest—" the words fumble off his lips as if he's unfamiliar with them, "—lowered, can we move on? We need to get out of the palace, and it will be easier to do that without Dark Elves shooting at us every second, yes? Thor, go see if the halls are cleared."

Thor gives a slight nod and exits the room, all too happy to be free of the confined space. It was stifling. Sickening. He's nearly to the other door to do as requested when he hears Loki's voice, quiet, but not enough to drown out entirely: "Listen, I don't know what level of drama you've dragged into this mess amidst the Stones, and honestly I don't care—but leave Thor  _out of it._ "

"We're not—" Steve starts, and Loki openly scoffs.

"Shut it. I've seen the way you treat him and I'm sickened. Captain, where is your sympathy? I just told him that we have to leave our mother to  _die_ and you can't muster up enough patience to give us a full minute to grieve?"

"We don't have time," Clint's voice is softer, and harder to pick out, "when this is over, we'll take time to grieve. Do you think that I don't  _want_ to? We lost our sisters, but the Aether is our priority right now."

"I get that," Loki's voice is lacking patience and completely flat, "but I'm not stupid. Do you not know what ails his  _voice?_ My mother put it together in less than a minute and explained to me so I can  _help_ , and you are a leading cause in it."

... _What?_

What do the Avengers have to do with—?

"I don't understand," Steve admits, but he sounds almost desperate.

"If you  _knew_  him you would," Loki's voice is barely discernible from how low it's dropped. "Pull him into any more of your theater worthy performances and I will personally tie you down to starve with your intestine."

Thor turns back to mediate, but Loki is already walking forward and flashes him a small, but tired smile. "Let's find somewhere to camp, yes?"

000o000

"Okay," Scott insists, lifting up the deck up after he finishes shuffling it, "but I can make this entire deck vanish by just waving my fingers. Promise."

Rhodey lifts his eyebrow up, sitting back in the chair a little further and raises his hands behind his hands. "Sure."

Scott gives him a cocky grin and wiggles his wrist a little before the pieces of thick paper wiggle down into his sleeves. Rhodey's eyebrow lifts higher despite himself in a show of unimpressed, before Scott tips his hands down and shakes them. No cards come flying out and the man rolls up his sleeves a second later, revealing nothing.

What?

Rhodey leans forward, grabbing at his forearms, "No way. Where did they go? That was more than seventy cards."

Scott smiles and waves his hands, wiggling his fingers, "Misdirection."

Rhodey scowls and sighs rubbing at his temples. This is getting ridiculous. They've only been in this room for three hours, but without anything of interest to entertain them save Nebula's persistent scowling, Scott located a deck of cards about an hour ago. Rhodey has never been one for card games, and this has only solidified that.

"Must you resort to these childish games?" Nebula snips out, sounding just as exasperated as Rhodey feels. "He slipped the cards up his sleeve completely. If he takes off his jacket, you'll see."

"How'd you—?" Scott starts with amazement, looking up at her with wide eyes.

Nebula glares at him, and Scott backs off, visibly uncomfortable.

Rhodey sighs, "Alright kids, calm down." He insists, and Nebula's glare shifts to him.

"I'm not a child." She says, voice hard.

Rhodey resists the urge to give a follow-up sigh of exasperation as Scott unzips the front of his jacket to begin to shake the cards out of his clothing. Rhodey tries not to be as impressed with Nebula's assumption than he is.

Rhodey looks over at her, "You want to tell us how old you are, then?"

Nebula's lips thin pointedly, and Rhodey hums, unsurprised. Any attempts at an interrogation have failed completely since Clint's one piece of information several hours ago. Not that Rhodey was expecting anything different. He and Scott are not professionally trained, nor have the experience of Clint. They weren't specifically  _charged_ with getting where  _their_ Nebula was in the first place, but Rhodey is...anxious, admittedly.

This feels like a kidnapping, and the longer they wait the harder it will be to dig her up again.

Besides, then he would do something  _useful_ for this whole operation beyond lose Nebula in the first place.

Scott dumps all the cards on the table and begins to shuffle them. Nebula watches with bored eyes before she flicks her gaze up to Scott. "You have  _more_ magic to show us?" She asks it like an accusation, and Scott looks up at her for a second.

"Only if you want."

Nebula huffs, scooting forward in her chair as best as she's able, "And why would we want  _that?_ I've seen children playing in the dirt with more talent than you."

Rhodey winces somewhat.

Scott laughs a little, seeming surprised at the venom. He flips the cards into each other and shakes his head, "I don't have talent, it's  _skills._ And I learned it to fool someone under ten, so...it didn't really matter. You know?"

Nebula blinks. "I do not."

Scott's brow furrows a little, "You haven't played with kids before? I mean, I learned this for my daughter, but it works with pretty much anyone—"

Nebula's entire frame freezes before she interrupts him, "You learned this  _for_  your daughter?  _For her?"_

Rhodey shares an unsettled glance with Scott, but something in him gives a painful tug. Nebula never liked to speak about it much, but he knows that the relationship between her and Thanos was...strained, to say the least. The little snippets of her childhood that Rhodey  _did_  hear have roused his desire to hit Thanos over the head with someone painful. And Gamora, but he wouldn't breathe a word of that out loud to Nebula.

He knows that their relationship is better.

But Nebula lost  _limbs._

"Yeah," Scott's voice is hesitant. He shrugs a little, "I mean, it entertained her, and it made her happy, but it was mostly because of the whole FBI-thing, we didn't have much else to do so..."

Nebula's gone slightly pale, and she looks as if she's been hit with something hard. She breathes out raggedly.

"Are you okay?" Rhodey questions, leaning forward as his hand slowly lowers to the pistol he has stuffed in the front pocket of his pants.

Nebula looks up, her jaw gaining a slight tick. She still seems unsettled. "Never better." There's a slight clicking noise.

"Sir—" FRIDAY's voice stars, sounding anxious.

A holographic computer flares to life on the desk suddenly, and Rhodey scrambles backwards with surprise as Scott yelps scattering his cards across the desk. A restraint snaps and Nebula releases a cry as she tears her metallic arm free, rising to her feet.

Rhodey pulls the gun out of his pocket, flicking the safety off but all the lights in the room die suddenly and the computer screen flickers off. Rhodey suddenly remembers where this is. Tony's office. He hardly uses it, even before he moved with Pepper, which is why it seems so empty. But Tony had a USB port or something like that in the desk.

And Nebula connected to it without anyone noticing.

FRIDAY. What did she do to FRIDAY?

Rhodey fires his gun wildly into where he last saw her, but Scott lets out a cry of pain and there's a thumping sound noise a second later.

He didn't  _hit_ him—

_James, you idiot._

He lowers his gun, and that's when a leg slams into his stomach toppling him onto his back. He groans loudly, swinging a hand up wildly, but Nebula's charred cybernetic hand grips it and she easily shoves his hand down. "Cord," she sneers, "you really thought that  _cord_ was going to stop me?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Rhodey counters, bringing up his other fist and managing to nail her across the face. Nebula growls and fights the gun from his hand, flicking it back up towards him. "No, wait—" He starts, lifting up his hands in surrender.

Her eyes flash wildly in the dark before she pistol whips him across the face.

Rhodey's vision darkens before he slips into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers: Ha! You'll never get out now!
> 
> 2014 Nebula: I can hack into your mainframe and contact my father without any problems.
> 
> The Avengers: She's so stuck! Haha!
> 
> 2014 Nebula: YOU TIED ME TO A DESK WITH A USB PORT YOU IDIOTS!
> 
> The Avengers: Ah, this is great.
> 
> 2014 Nebula: *Knocks them out*
> 
> Sorry, sorry! Couldn't help myself. The USB-port, whatever-thing, was mentioned in chap. 4, so, yep...Gosh, this whole chapter feels like a disaster, and I want to weep in frustration, but I didn't want to not update any longer. Sorry. :)
> 
> Next chapter is July 2nd! See you then, loves! Thank you so much for your support! You're awesome!


	8. This Chapter Eight. The Only Named Chapter, and It's Not Even A Name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! Look, I can still make update dates! ;)
> 
> Whoa! Whoa! Thank you guys so much for your encouragement and support! You always leave me with warm fuzzies, and I appreciate that. :)
> 
> Warnings: Violence.
> 
> Disclaimer: See previous 7 chapters. I don't own this pup.

* * *

 

They watch the battle from afar, on the hills of some cliffs that Thor and Loki—after sharing what looks like a telepathic conversation with a single look—determine is enough distance to keep them out of the battle. Steve, who had thought to bring a communicator (not quite a phone, but something else) this time, texts Tony to explain the situation, and they wait out most of the day in silence.

He and Rocket go hunting for dinner, but the food just sits there charring in the fire. None of them are calm enough to eat, but Clint picks at it halfheartedly. The weird rabbit-like-thing he shot tastes funny, and the thought of having anything settled in his stomach makes him want to vomit. So he doesn't attempt to stuff anything down after that.

He spends a majority of the evening picking at grass with his hands and cutting it to roughly the same length with the tip of an arrow. Steve is on his back, looking up at the sky, but what he's thinking about—or if he's asleep or not—Clint can't determine properly. Thor and Loki are both sitting on the edge of a cliff side about twenty feet in front of his current position, but whether or not they're engaged in conversation is hard to say from the darkening light.

He's got a pretty good section of the grass evened out when Rocket sits down next to him. His gun is missing, but Clint doesn't really bother to look for it, instead trying to withhold the tense as his muscles lock without his consent.

Rocket picks up a few of the cut pieces, running them between two claws. "You do this often?" He questions.

Clint raises an eyebrow, lifting his head up, "No. Not really."

"It's pretty even for a first time, " Rocket concludes, lifting a hand over the blades of grass, "except this one piece, but I'll still give you a nine-point-six out of ten."

Thoughtful.

"Thanks," Clint says stiffly, and slices another blade of grass to even with the shorter ones. Rocket sighs and rubs at his forehead.

"I'm pretty terrible at apologies, but, uh...I was a little out of line today," Rocket admits, and Clint stops to look up at the raccoon, even though the animal quickly pulls his gaze away. "Sorry."

That...that was unexpected. Okay. Clint shrugs slightly, snapping at another leaf, "No worries, stupid. I'm sorry, too."

"Good," Rocket breathes out heavily, and then groans. "Gosh, that came out better and faster than I was expecting. I really thought that you'd make me stew for a while."

He  _could've,_ but what point would that have served? Steve is—as almost always—right. Going in circles of trying to bite each others' heads off has done exactly nothing, and Clint doesn't like to kick at the metaphorical dead horse any longer than he has to.

He snickers softly, leaning back a little, "Ha. I'd  _try,_ but the Cap-Guilt-Trip would kick my butt back into gear eventually. I hate it when he pulls that card."

Rocket nods in serious agreement, "He's a lot like Gamora in that aspect," he admits quietly, "I hated it when she did that." Clint gnaws on his lower lip with his teeth for a second, glancing at the raccoon and trying to come up with an intelligent response. He's never been very good with emotions. Laura was, though.

Clint lightly nudges his shoulder a little with his forearm, "We're close," he reminds softly, "it's just the Aether. We'll get it."

He's hours from seeing Laura and his kids again.  _Hours._

"I know," Rocket agrees, "but I wanted...I know Nebula wanted to be there to greet them...and what if she's not?" ( _Nat wanted to be there to greet everyone, and she's not going to be. Instead she's laying on the ground of Vormir to_ rot  _because Clint couldn't find her body._ )

Clint blows out a breath through his teeth, "She will be." He promises, offering a grim smile that feels far to false to be reassuring. "How hard can it be to track down someone like  _her?_ Just look for the sign pointing in the direction of the Previously-Known-Sadist-That-A-Way."

Rocket audibly snorts. "I'll make sure to keep my eyes peeled."

"Good idea," Clint encourages halfheartedly, "let me know when you find something."

"Yep."

Silence settles between them again, and after a few more minutes, Rocket digs out a small knife from his boot and begins to even Clint's handiwork. This really wasn't how he expected to spend the evening, but he and Rocket gather the trimmed pieces to toss into the small fire pit to keep the embers burning. Asgard isn't exactly warm, and Clint suspects that it's only going to get colder as time keeps passing.

He really doesn't know how long they've been doing this when Steve sits up a little, shifting his shield to the side so he can lean on his side against one hand. He surveys them with his gaze before lifting up an eyebrow a little, "Having fun?" He questions.

"Don't hate it till you try it," Clint grumbles, flicking a few pieces of grass Rocket hands him into the embers.

"It's late," Steve says, his voice is tired, "get some rest."

Clint tilts his head up pointedly, and Steve follows his gaze after a second towards where Thor and Loki are silhouetted near the edge of the cliff, facing orb-like lights that started floating about twenty minutes ago. Clint doesn't quite understand the significance, but they've been doing so for about five minutes now.

"Waiting for them to go to sleep," Clint explains, lazily flicking a finger up, "someone needs to keep watch."

Steve turns his gaze away from the siblings, lips thinned, "I think they're going to be there for a while. I'll keep first watch. Go to sleep."

Stubbornness refuses to let him yield, neither does the fact that Steve refuses to take care of himself and this is just another addition to that. Clint can last a few hours, it isn't that big of a deal. "I'm fine," he assures.

Steve makes a face, "Clint, please don't—"

"Okay," Rocket says, cutting off the plea as he lifts up his paws a little, "you two fight this out. I am going to sleep. Wake me up if something that shouldn't be on fire is; watching it burn would be a good wake up routine." With that stated, Rocket gives a cocky grin and slips his knife into his boot before walking off to lay down next to the embers.

Sometimes...never mind.

Clint turns back to Steve, "You're a hundred and four," he reminds with some snark, but the fight feels almost weighted, "I can handle staying up for a few hours, Grandpa."

"Clint."

"I'm—"

"Sleep deprivation isn't a problem for me, okay?" Steve's voice has snapped of patience, but he isn't shouting; doesn't have to. He sits up a little more, gaze ice. Clint's fingers still, and he tries to catch his expression before it slips, but he doesn't quite grab it.

No.

It wouldn't be after Japan, would it? Not after what the terrorists  _did._ A part of him that isn't growing sicker as he contemplates his actions the last two months is vindictively pleased that he finally got the head operative in Steve and Nat's capture before he was pulled away from Japan.

Steve breathes out slowly, "I'm sorry...I know that you're sensitive about what—"

" _I am?"_ Clint scoffs, "That has nothing to do with  _me."_

"Please stop fighting me," Steve sounds so tired. Old. Like he really  _has_ been aware and alive for every day of the century of his life. Clint's jaw snaps shut, and he heatedly turns his head away. He...he really  _doesn't_ mean to be, but every part of him is frayed and he can't draw up enough patience to actually get somewhere.

He needs to sleep.

The flight from Japan to the States was long and mostly included enduring Nat's silent stare of disapproval on his back. Yeah, he knows that he could have handled the situation better, but Steve and Nat didn't  _see_ themselves when he and Tony finally managed to find them. All Clint felt was rage, and all it did was simmer as time passed.

He regrets how far things went, yeah, but prison was a little too good for those monsters.

When  _was_ the last time he slept? More than thirty hours now.

Clint gnaws sharply at his inner gums before closing his eyes for a long second and exhaling. "Sorry," he mumbles in submission, and stuffs the arrow into his quiver chancing a glance at Steve's relieved face before he lays down on his side and curls in around himself.

It is cold.

And Steve is still frustrated with him.

He didn't think he'd really fall asleep with everything, but he must have because he's jerked into a half daze at the indistinct sounds of a whispered conversation between Steve and Loki. It isn't very long and Clint's exhausted brain can't pick out more than a few distinct words—"sleep", "starts", and "funeral"—before he's dragged back under again.

He dreams of Laura and his kids. Cooper is trying to work on a science project, but none of them can find any tape and they end up gluing the volcano together with melted rubber ducks. It makes perfect logical sense at the time, but it won't fit in their car, and Lila bursts into tears that Nathaniel quickly follows with. Laura dumps ketchup all over the volcano in her utter despair, and Clint cries out at their stupidity.

He also dreams he can hear Wanda calling for him, but her voice is faint and pained.

It must be later when he re-awakens again, but this time his mind is nearly perfectly awake. Steve is breathing deeply, as is Rocket, so the two of them must be asleep. Looking through have lidded eyes helps him pick out the blurry forms of Loki and Thor sitting side by side in front of the fire. They're talking, and Clint quietly wishes he'd turned off his hearing aids.

Not too late, actually.

His hand sluggishly lifts to complete the task, but he stops as he realizes that Thor is  _talking._ He hadn't noticed the oddity of it at first, but his brain catches up with current events and insists that this isn't normal.

Isn't that terrible that he didn't notice until a few days ago how quiet Thor had gotten? Nat would've—did?—noted it the first week of whenever this started. He shouldn't have let her jump. She could have handled all of this differently. She wouldn't be picking useless fights with Steve and everyone else, and she'd have solved the problem.

He shouldn't have been the one to walk away from Vorimir.

"...but Val found him later, and I've never seen a child regret something more," Thor whispers, and Loki gives a quiet snort of laughter. The sound nearly throws him. He's never heard Loki laugh before, and it's...weird. In the attack of New York Loki wasn't giving hearty chuckles of mirth as he killed everyone. If he was laughing it was...wrong. Not that he remembers much of the invasion, anyway, but from what he  _can,_ there wasn't that.

The two are silent long enough that Clint's beginning to drift off again, but he's pulled into a state of semi-consciousness again at Loki's whispered words: "I told the Kursed where to find the defense system in the palace."

The meaning is lost to him, but tension settles in the air at it. Loki appends further: "You asked what help I was in the cell, and...that's what I…"

Thor sighs softly, "I know." He admits.

"Our father didn't...he didn't even plan to tell you until Tyr reminded him." Thor confesses, "I asked them not to let you come to the funeral."

He is listening to something he isn't meant to. Clint shifts a little, trying to block out the voices, but he still catches Loki's following reassurance of " _I know"._ Whether or not the conversation continues past that, Clint doesn't know. He lifts his hand up at last and turns off his hearing aids, curls into himself in a tight ball, and tries to ignore the fact that this isn't the Avengers Compound.

Sleep still doesn't come easily. He's restless, stiff, and every part of his senses is heightened and uncomfortable. Everything smells weird; not necessarily a  _bad_ weird, but still weird. He can't really hear anything anymore, but the small portion of his ears that  _isn't_ completely deaf still picks up weird noises and sounds. He's pretty sure that he hears a few wild animals, but it's distant, and not concerning.

Thor eventually goes to sleep, but Loki stays up well into the night keeping watch over the fire with a faraway expression. Clint doesn't strike up conversation with him, doesn't  _want_ to, and sees that Rocket is having about as much success with sleep as he is: close to none.

He lays on his back for hours with his eyes closed, long enough to see Rocket bully Loki into going to sleep. He's almost certain that he's going to remain in a half-daze until morning, but that illusion is firmly broken when Steve begins thrashing slightly in his sleep. Almost as if he's trying to fight off something.

Confused, Clint sits up slowly, flicking on his hearing aids again and makes brief eye contact with Rocket. He shifts forward slowly towards the captain, trying to find the issue, but can't see anything immediate. Steve's making a funny wheezing noise, and Clint can't say he likes it.

"Steve?" Clint questions, and shifts forward a little more.

He rests his hand on the super soldier's shoulder to wake him; and Steve opens his mouth and  _howls_.

000o000

"Steve? You coming?" A cold hand touches his shoulder, and Steve flinches sharply away from the fingers, hand coming to grip at the dirt sharply as he inhales deeply. He doesn't know how he knows, but he  _knows_ that it smells wrong. It's thick with ash, blood, and gunfire. Not clean, but cold enough to hurt as he breathes. "C'mon, Rogers, I swear if I have to drag your body to cover  _again_ because you insist that you're bulletproof…"

He knows that voice.

But it's murky.

Everything is distorted.

How does he know that voice?

Is...is this his  _body?_ Everything...everything is... _off_.

"Steve!" Hands grab at his shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position, and his eyes flick up from the dirt to meet Bucky's calculating blue. Bucky. Bucky? That...isn't right. Isn't it? ( _No, it's wrong, and something is—)_ "Listen," Bucky ducks a little as gunfire sounds close to them, and swears sharply. "You know, I don't really know what you were thinking, but this was a  _terrible_  idea."

Something is…

_Something is..._

"Your arm," Steve blurts, and the other man's jaw snaps shut, brow furrowing as he glances down at his hands trying to find the source of Steve's discomfort. "Where's...the—"  _why are words so hard to form!?_ "—the metal?"

How does he know that's wrong? Bucky hasn't...has? Metal. He doesn't. These (these?) makes no sense. He can't think straight. Something is pulling at his subconscious, and it's making it hard to. To. To…to...do things. Finish thoughts.

What on the—?

Bucky lifts up a hand to touch at the flesh of his left hand, and Bucky gasps sharply as his fingers gently prod at the dirty skin. It feels wrong. Not...not human. Plastic, almost; without any warmth. Bucky's fingers twitch several times before he grasps at his wrist sharply and Steve's eyes widen with horror as metal begins to fold around the skin.

"Steve—!" Bucky gasps, looking up at him with wide, frightened eyes. "Help me.  _Help me!"_

Steve scrambles forward, but his limbs feel heavy and not like his own. He grasps at Bucky's hand, trying to find something— _anything_ —to help, but nothing is coming to mind. Bucky is screaming. The battlefield isn't making noise anymore.

"Steve…" Bucky groans, and his fist clenches. The sight makes Steve recoil slightly. It's so  _unnatural_ and he doesn't like that. He doesn't think he likes it. He doesn't like to think. This is so...this...he doesn't understand what's going on.

Bucky grabs at the front of his suit, and fists the cloth looking at him earnestly. Dark hair is falling around his thin face, "You have to help us,  _please...please…_ "

"Us"? Who's " _us_ "?

"What's wrong?" Steve questions, but Bucky's gaze has shifted away. "Bucky!  _What's_ wrong!? What can I do?"

Bucky's eyes shift to his again, and he gives a pained grimace. "This isn't...I'm sorry," he murmurs.

"What? What for? We're…" Steve looks up, staring at the German forest, trying to place  _where_ they are. He seemed so  _sure_ earlier that this was a battle. He's fighting in the war, and...there aren't enough sounds for an active battle zone.

What is this?

Bucky's  _arm…_

Bucky rips his arm out of Steve's grip and dives for a gun that's sitting next to them. He hadn't noticed it until Bucky grabbed it. Steve's body jolts with irrational panic (he shouldn't be afraid of his brother, but something inside of him is wary of Bucky and that sickens him). Bucky twists around, pistol in hand, and he still has that desperate gleam in his eye and— _you're my mission—_ Steve leans away despite himself.

"Bucky…?"

They're fighting HYDRA. They aren't supposed to be...why is Bucky waving a gun  _at_ him. Yes, Bucky has jokingly threatened to shoot him before—but it was that: a  _joke,_ and now he doesn't understand the—

"I'm sorry, Steve." Bucky whispers again, and fires the gun.

A loud gasp is pulled from his lungs and pain briefly ripples across his forehead as he tumbles onto his back. Bucky shot him. Bucky shot him. Bucky shot him in the head and he should be dead. Bucky shot him in the head. The Winter Soldier shot him in the head—

_("YOU ACTUALLY SHOT HIM!?"_

" _He wasn't phasing, Spider."_

" _SO YOU SHOT HIM!?"_

" _I didn't_ want  _to!"_

" _She finally gets a hold of someone, and you shoot them. Amazing. Oh, gosh, this is—")_

"Gosh, I swear we need to get you Life Alert," Sam grumbles as he tugs Steve to his feet. Steve stumbles, disoriented. The green verdure of Central Park meet his gaze evenly, and he recognizes New York a moment later. Not 1940's New York.

Not Bucky.

What—

Steve blinks several times, but rubs at his forehead subconsciously. There isn't a bullet hole, but that felt so  _real—_ and it wasn't. Not...not in the way it was.

_Something…_

_Something is…_

Sam lifts up his hands mockingly with a tease in his voice. "'Help me. I've fallen and I can't get up',"

"I'm not…" Steve's brow furrows. This...this doesn't feel real. Something's not right. Sam's...Steve's vision is hazy with red around the edges, and Sam's wings are spread, but he's not going anywhere. Those are the ones that Tony gave him and that's weird because Sam hasn't touched those since Rhodey fell— _Can anyone get to Vision?_ —and...no. It was Thanos. During the attack on Wakanda and...

Sam rolls his eyes and sniffs, mumbling something about inquiring with someone about it before he lifts a large knife up and jerks it up into Steve's stomach. "Sam—!" Steve gasps in confusion. This is his teammate and  _why did he stab him when—_

Steve collapses onto his knees—

(" _This isn't working, I'm losing him, Doctor."_

" _Try harder."_

" _If I_ try  _any harder, I'll split my skull open."_

" _I didn't exactly study telepathy. This is supposed to be_ your  _department."_

" _Let me try something else. No—wait. No, no, no—stop, something is pulling at him, I can't—")_

Steve sits up, hands coming to claw at the non-existent injury. The room is cold, and he's at the bottom of a staircase. This is the common room of Avengers Tower...but it's wrong. Angled weirdly and his vision is hazy with red at the edges.

Something is…

Something  _is…_

"I think we need to talk," Steve tilts his head up at Natasha's voice, and watches with a pang in his stomach he doesn't understand as the redhead steps into view. She looks...she looks different than before they were taken by the terrorists. (Before they were counting the numbers in a dazed chant). Healthy. Not quite happy, but the hollowness in her face and fingers isn't quite as noticeable. Her hair is drawn back into a braid. She looks like— _see you in a minute—_ she just stepped off a battlefield.

Natasha sits down next to him, her presence as calming and reassuring as ever. She gives him a faint smile, but it's sad. Steve resists the urge to draw her into an embrace, because he knows she doesn't like physical affection without first being asked, and it seems almost inappropriate.

Something is…

Something  _is…_

"Everyone okay?" Natasha's voice draws him back, and he blinks a little, confused.

"I'm...yeah." He agrees, though he doesn't understand the question. It seems to be the answer she wanted, though, because she nods and looks a little lighter.

The redhead blows out a slight breath, "They're going crazy in there," she murmurs, "I think you need to pick up the pace,  _durak neschastnyi."_

That one was rude. Steve's eyebrow lifts a little, "Name calling isn't going to get you anywhere."

Natasha smiles again, "I know." Hesitantly, she starts, "Steve,"

"Hmm?"

This is peaceful. He's tired. He wants to rest, but there's an urgent whisper in the back of his head that promises if he does he isn't going to wake up. That seems foolish. He isn't injured, and Natasha is here, so she'll keep him safe until he isn't supposed to rest anymore. She keeps them all safe.

"Listen carefully: Clint traded my soul, and you need to trade to get it back." Natasha says, and her voice is lacking humor. She's serious, and Steve looks at her with a squinted gaze. This is important to her, obviously, but  _why_ makes no sense to him.

"Your soul…?" He questions, "Nat…?"

She's staring at his face urgently, "Clint traded my soul, and you need to trade to get it back." She repeats. "Don't forget this. Clint traded my soul and—"

Wrong.

Something is  _wrong._

"—to trade to get—"

A presence cuts through the fog sharply, grabbing at the tendrils of everything in this weird reality and  _pulls._ It snaps, and the haze of red tinting his vision clears as he's yanked up and up and up— _he's going to be sick—_ until he's thrown and he staggers, landing before his entire being seems to be ripped apart and a howl escapes him in  _agony_ that—

Steve jerks up with a gasp, hands flailing and lungs tight.

He stumbles up from out of his seated position onto his hands and knees, choking and his stomach lurches sharply. He bites back the vomit, but grips at his head and tries to find a grounding sensation. What...what...what—?

Natasha was—

That was—

Bucky shot—?

"Breathe," a hand lands on his shoulder, and Steve tenses at it, sickened. It makes every nerve in his arm alight at once, and suddenly he isn't on his hands and knees anymore, he's on his side and vomiting and he's  _choking_ on it and—

He's on his back.

The taste of vomit is still present on his tongue, but Steve can't remember when he stopped. He shakes his head several times, lifting his hands to his temples and rubs. What. What.  _What?_

That...he must be crazy, because there is  _no way_ that the half formed idea of what just happened is real. It  _can't_ be. Scott was the only indication that they've had in the last five  _years_ that Thanos wasn't completely successful and if he isn't crazy and that wasn't just a dream, then—

It felt like Wanda.

In his head.

 _Wanda._ Who has been among the Vanished for  _five years_ and is very  _dead_ in his  _head._

Everything is still fuzzy, and he can't  _connect_ to himself. Focus.  _Focus._ This...where  _is_ he? His hands grip around grass, and his knees are digging into dirt. The air tastes thin and lacks the thick smog of New York.

A hand grabs at his shoulder again, and his nerves spring with discomfort. He turns, hand fisted to hit whoever it is, but fingers catch his fist before it can make contact. Wildly, he lifts his gaze up to look at his assailant, and meets the blue eye of Thor. Behind him is Loki, and further back he can see Clint with Rocket perched on his shoulder.

This is his team.

_Calm. Down._

A gurgle of words and noises tries to escape his throat, but none of it makes any sense and he can't hear it. Not clearly. He thinks Thor may be trying to say something, but, as he has come to associate with the mute now, nothing verbal comes out.

"He's not breathing!"

"His eyes are bleeding!"

"Put him on his back!"

Hands strain to shove him in that direction, but Steve's stomach is protesting this violently. He makes move to vomit again, but finds no success. The hard ground touches his spine, and a loud whine escapes him at the pain. His senses are so heightened, it feels like he just got the serum again and is learning to adjust. What is  _happening!?_

His vision is blurring, and he can taste blood pooling into his mouth. It's leaking from his nose. Everyone is still talking around him, shouting, but it doesn't make much sense. Clint is trying to ask him something, but Steve's vision is blurred and tainted with red.

Is he dying?

"H-h-help," he thinks the word is his, but he's not sure. " _H-h-elp,"_

He is so numb, but there is too much pain to think through.

He reaches a hand up to grab at Clint's forearm desperately through his blurry, tainted vision, and the archer shouts something at Loki. The Asgardian is talking rapidly, and Clint says something in response maybe a panicked answer to a question before Loki moves forward and his fingers wave in front of Steve's face.

A noise of panic  _does_  ring out from him, but it's cut off as his body goes lax at last, and his mind succumbs to unconsciousness again.

000o000

When Steve finally awakens, his mouth tastes like the smell of well-worn leather, his limbs are achy, and he's hungry, but he's solidly  _here._ He's on Asgard, he's collecting the Aether with Rocket, Clint, Thor, and Loki, they had to stay the night to wait out Dr. Foster's guard. They were sleeping, and Steve was dreaming and then…

He doesn't know what happened. There was some sort of  _yank_ on his consciousness, like he'd been stuffed to the side so something else could squeeze inside his head shakily, and then there were those  _dreams._

_Clint traded my soul, and you need to trade to get it back._

Natasha.

How…that  _was_ Natasha. Exactly how he remembers her before she and Clint left for Vorimir. Maybe a little paler, and her eyes a little more distant, but it  _was_ her. That didn't feel like a dream. It felt real. Like he could reach out and touch her, and he'd feel the familiar warmth of her hand or her arm beneath his skin.

It was a dream.

Just a  _dream._

But…

Steve lifts a hand up shakily to feel for blood beneath his eyes or his nose. There was so much when he was awake last, and he doesn't understand. When his hand meets the flesh of his face, there isn't any liquid or that hardened crusting that blood does when it's been sitting there for a while. His fingers are grimy, though, like the crusted blood is beneath his fingernails.

That blood was real.

What  _else_ was real?

Tiredly, Steve slowly blinks his eyes open a thick overcast of clouds. He's on his back, feet strangely tingly and everything is cold. It still smells faintly of Asgard's odd verdure, which suggests that he hasn't left yet. People are talking in the background, but he can't make sense of anything they're saying. How long was he asleep?

What happened?

That...that  _was_ Wanda. He's sure of it, even if he is crazy because of his faith in this. Wanda has been among the Vanished, and  _that_ hasn't changed since 2018. There isn't any way she could reach him now. Not anyway that he knows of.

But that  _was_ Wanda.

There is no one else that it could have been.

He felt her  _in his head._ A little bubble of hope builds in his stomach, despite his best attempts to quell it. Wanda is...alive? Existing? Not dead? She was  _in his head._ How can that...how.  _How?_ She's been in his thoughts before. Sometimes in their missions she would open telepathic links between them when comms broke down or it was necessary for stealth. He's felt her in his head before enough to recognize her, and there is no way that should be possible  _now._

They have had no indication since the Stones were destroyed that anyone within them hadn't been vaporized from existence. Not until Scott. They'd hoped, but there had been no proof. No  _point_ in hoping when all it did was make them ache.

Wanda.

Natasha. Maybe... _maybe…_ Clint traded her soul for the Stone, but they don't know what that  _means._ What if it really  _was_ Natasha? The real Natasha. In his head?  _Don't be stupid, Rogers. Natasha is dead. She isn't haunting you._

Haunting.

Is that what this is?

He's crazy.

That's what it is.

_Insanity._

Steve sits up slowly, steadily, trying to move as quickly as he dares. Everything still feels fuzzy, but he feels far more grounded in his body than he did before. This is  _his_ skin, not someone else's; that much he is, thankfully, certain of.

Steve makes his way into a sitting position and quietly congratulates himself of doing that much. Why is he so  _tired?_ His stomach is gnawing on his insides with hunger, too, but it can't have been that long since he last ate. Maybe a few hours. How long was he asleep?

His throat is dry.

_You do not belong here._

Keeping a hand pressed against his stomach, Steve slowly sweeps his gaze across the space to assess his surroundings. It's still the small field that Thor and Loki determined was out of the way enough, with the tall grass—save where Clint and Rocket chopped—and the large rocks with the forest towards the south. In the east, Steve can see the gleaming palace with the city surrounding it.

Still Asgard.

That's...that's good.

Steve flicks his gaze around the space, trying to find his team. The fire-pit has gone out, but there's evidence that it's been burning recently. Clint is squatted in front of the others, blocking his view, but Steve can somewhat put together what's happening well enough. Loki is laying on his back against the ground without his shirt as Rocket jams something into his left shoulder. At Loki's head is Thor who is completely still.

They're talking, but what they're saying he can't make much sense of.

Thor's skin has a sickly pallor, and he isn't dressed nearly as heavily as he was when they left. He's shed his jacket—Steve's head was laying on it—and Steve realizes with no small jolt that without the layers of armor that Thor was previously wearing, he looks...small.

Has he eaten  _anything_ since 2018?

His wrists are jutting out, and his fingers are thinned.

Clint's posture is tight, but he seems otherwise fine, if a little rumpled, and Rocket's fur is bristled. Loki, however, looks cadaverous and his pale skin looks like it's  _glowing_ somewhat. What the heck is going on? Steve staggers to his feet somewhat, wincing a little as a headache pounds its way into the surface of his consciousness at the back of his skull. The grass is almost sharp beneath his fingers as he moves forward. After a few seconds of lopsided hobbling, he lands on his knees, hard, beside Clint.

"What're you—" Steve starts to ask with a slur, but his eyes widen with disgust. He hardly registers the bodily jolt away from him that Clint does in surprise, or as almost all eyes lift to him. His gaze is locked onto the thick needle that Rocket has shoved into the blast wound Loki sustained in his shoulder a few days ago. His skin is charred black around the edges and it looks like stitches that Bruce scraped together were hastily cut at to tear the wound, which Thor is keeping parted with gentle fingers, open.

Rocket is draining something red from Loki's skin, and it's not infection.

It looks faintly like sand, maybe a watery jell-o.

Oh,  _disgusting._

Steve lurches back a little, his lip curling as he tries his best not to heave. His headache grumbles in protest at the sudden movement, but Steve doesn't really care. All he is...what are they  _doing!?_ Steve knows enough about medical-stuff to know that cutting open a previous wound and draining  _jell-o—_ that isn't Loki's  _blood,_ is it?—isn't recommended!

"Steve! Oh, thank God." That's Clint's voice, and the archer grabs at his shoulder to tilt him forward before Steve can collapse back onto his elbows. "You're up." He sounds so relieved, and Steve can't fathom why.

"What're...what're you—?" Steve starts to ask, pointing at Loki, but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. "What're…"

"This isn't what it looks like," Rocket says quickly, and Steve flicks his gaze from Clint's pale face to the raccoon. Loki's hazy green eyes have fluttered halfway open and Steve hates the feeling of them on his head. It takes him a second to realize that Loki's breathing doesn't sound normal. Hitched. Not gasping or rapid, but so slow it sounds like it could stop after any breath.

"Okay..." Rocket hesitates, and adjusts his grip on his gun-looking-blood-drain-thing. Steve recognizes it from somewhere. "It  _is_ a little bit what it looks like."

Steve's tongue flops around his mouth uselessly. He's pretty sure he wouldn't be upright without Clint's hand against his upper back. Why is his body so  _exhausted?_

"We can explain in a second," Clint assures, snapping Steve back to the present, "but we really need to finish this right now." His voice is clipped before he glances more fully at Steve, "Are you okay?"

"Tired," he admits reluctantly, "mostly confused."

Clint nods with agreement at that statement, and Steve thins his lips tightly as Rocket clears his throat pointedly. The archer turns his attention back to the Asgardian lying prone and shifts forward a little to look down at something.

"Okay," Rocket announces, and Thor shifts a little as Loki squeezes his eyes shut and his lips press into a thin line. "On three. One, two," Rocket plunges the needle deeper into Loki's skin on one and Thor pushes the gap open further. Loki's breathing hitches, his fingers fisting into the dirt tautly.

The red surge begins to flow into the canister again, and Steve follows Clint's gaze to see thick trails of the reddish sand beneath the ugly scars dotting Loki's skin. It looks so out of place. Almost like a parasite. What  _is_ that?

"It's starting to move," Clint cuts into the silence, and Steve flicks his gaze down to see that is indeed the case. Rocket mutters something under his breath that sounds close to " _finally"._ The red is drawing away from under the skin, moving in a sluggish pattern towards the needle. The canister is starting to fill with the maybe-sand, and it's swirling inside as if unsettled or angry.

That's...weird. Unnatural. Maybe Steve  _doesn't_ want to know what it is.

"Closer, closer…" Clint says, and Steve notices Loki's breathing hitch in his chest completely. Thor's fingers don't shift from keeping the skin parted, even though there  _is_ blood leaking around it. Steve hadn't noticed that before, but on top of the charred skin there the liquid is leaking lazily. Rocket's eyes are kept firmly on keeping the needle as he keeps it settled between the parted skin without touching either side like their lives depend on it.

"Just a little more..." Clint prompts, and something awfully close to a keen slips through Loki's lips before a ragged  _hiss_ rings up through the air and Rocket stumbles backwards as the swirly-sand releases itself fully into the canister. Steve moves to steady him, but his hands feel shaky and his limbs unconnected from his body.

"Hallelujah." Clint murmurs under his breath as Rocket lets out a " _ha!"_ of achievement.

From the corner of his blurry vision, Steve sees Thor's hands draw back and Loki's fingers move to press against the bleeding wound. His headache is staggering, and demands his attention now that there isn't anything to steal it. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and sits down completely pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes.

_Ow._

What the heck is going on?

"Hey; you good?" A hand rests on his shoulder, and Steve braves the dimming light in the distance to look up at Clint's pale face. A faint bruise is forming on his cheek, and he looks exhausted, but otherwise fine. There's reassurance in  _that,_ he supposes.

He didn't wake up to find anyone dead.

Just performing surgery on each other.

What  _was_ that?

"I'm…" Why is his tongue so  _heavy?_

Clint's eyebrows furrow and a faint anxiety tenses near his eyes, "Headache?"

"Um, yeah," Steve affirms, trying to gather some semblance of strength. "I'm...what on—what were you  _doing?"_

To their left, Steve spots Loki still lying prone as Thor, who has miraculously pulled a needle and thread from  _somewhere—_ Rocket, Rocket is winding up thread, why did  _he_ have that?—is beginning to stitch the blaster wound closed again. Loki's face is pale and his eyes shadowed heavily enough to mistake for bruises. Who's idea was it to rip that  _open_ again? Steve is going to hit them for their idiocy. Anyone who has had stitches before knows the importance of  _not_ breaking the wound open again.

Clint sighs heavily. "It's...that's a bit of a long story. How's your head?"

"Headache," Steve feels like he's parroting himself, and realizes that Clint already  _asked_ him. He looks up the archer, "Did I hit my head on something? Why're you…?" Steve lifts a hand to feel in his hairline, not coming out with anything and Clint catches his wrist.

"No. You didn't hit your head." Clint promises, left hand flexing anxiously, "It's...is it  _just_ a headache or—"

"Hawkeye." He can't draw up the energy to humor him, and he lifts his eyes to stare at Clint's face. "What  _happened?_ Why does my headache matter so much?" This is why he usually downplays any injuries he receives on the field. Either they really  _won't_ be a problem with the serum, or his team does  _this._

Rocket snorts loudly, and Steve flicks his gaze to the raccoon. He's twisting at the canister they were shoving into Loki's skin as if tightening it, and Steve suddenly recognizes where he's seen it before.  _That_ is the device that Rocket built to contain the Aether a few hours ( _hours?)_  ago. A well of anxiety opens in his stomach, and Steve turns to Clint, "What did you  _do?"_

Clint's jaw snaps shut, "I'm  _sorry?"_

"That," Steve points an unsteady hand at the Aether— _the Aether._ What  _happened_  while he was sleeping? "I know that. What were you  _doing?_ That's the Aether. The Aether is—what the…? How did it...you were  _pulling_ it from Loki's body."

Clint winces. "Yeah. So."

"Idiot absorbed it 'cause we couldn't pull it from Foster, so yeah. We pulled it out of him before it could do something more stupid. Did you know that the Aether eats magic? 'Cause I didn't. Foster, according to the Salmon over there," Rocket points a claw towards Loki, "is lucky she doesn't have a drop of magic in her body. I never wondered what happens when you put an Infinity Stone inside of someone before, but now I  _really_ wish I didn't know."

Steve feels his jaw freely drop, and he turns to look at Loki. Thor is still leaning over him and stitching at the wounds, but it doesn't seem to be going quickly. Loki keeps flinching away from him and murmuring something softly in a tongue Steve doesn't recognize.

"You…?" Steve breathes, and then shakes his head a little, " _He…?"_

Rocket swings the Aether's container across his back and looks up at Clint, "He's awake, the Aether's out without triggering the defense system. We should leave."

Clint scoffs openly, but doesn't seem nearly as surprised as Steve feels by the statement. "Not  _yet._ Loki isn't put back together again yet, and we still haven't determined whether or not Cap is fit for travel. We can't just rush into this, rushing is what gets people killed or lost."

Rocket's eyes narrow, and Steve feels his close briefly with frustration, but there is no following argument. His head. Oh, his  _head._ What the heck did he  _do?_  Get hit by a bus? Smacked over the head with a wrench? Speaking from experience, none are very pleasant. A low whine slips from his lips without his consent and Steve leans forward to press his hands against his temples.

Ow.

_Ow._

"Steve?" Clint's hand is on his shoulder, more frantic this time. " _Steve?"_

Steve can't untangle his tongue enough to offer a response, pressing harder. Is his  _skull_ going to explode? It feels almost like someone dumped a bucket of sand inside the cavity and his brain has to rub against it constantly to find any room inside.  _Ow!_ He bites sharply at his tongue, but it doesn't help anything.

The pain isn't distracting, it's  _consuming_. This feels like the headaches he used to get in Japan when he and Nat were held there and he hadn't slept in a few days and they'd...it's not...not  _that,_ right? No. Nat's...Nat's body is on Vori...Vori-something. He's on Asgard. This isn't Japan.

It isn't.

No.

Absolutely not.

It still smells like Asgard.

"...Seventy—" That's his voice. He's saying the numbers and he didn't mean to.

A hand slams against his forehead and Steve gasps, flinching back from it sharply. A soft pained noise slips from his lips as he feels a foreign presence whisper in the back of his mind, retreating just as quickly.

"What the—?" Steve starts, opening his eyes with effort and flicking his gaze up, nearly jumping again. Loki is squatted in front of him, tired eyes focused on his face as he struggles to stay upright, likely only achieving that by Thor's hand against his shoulder.  _Loki's_ cold hand is pressed against Steve's forehead as if checking for a fever.

"Anything?" Clint asks warily, behind him.

"Not so far," Loki answers. His voice is raspy.

Thor's shoulders sag with relief.

"...Is that  _good_?" The archer presses, and Loki gives a mirthless huff, wincing slightly when he does so. His shirt has been replaced, hiding any evidence of the wound, but Steve can still see that it's  _there._ Loki's left hand is tucked close to his body making an obvious attempt at protecting it.

The sorcerer's hand draws away from Steve's forehead and bloodshot green eyes stare at Steve's face searchingly. The full extent of his attention is almost stifling, and Steve can't quite help when he draws away a little. What it  _is_ he's looking for, Steve doesn't know, but he apparently doesn't find it. He is so confused, and he  _hates_ this. This is the feeling his associates with the first month in 2012, and he  _hated_ that.

Steve draws back from the others, trying to gain some breathing room. Everyone keeps staring at him as if they expect him to explode and they're in charge of putting his broken bits back together again.

"That's hard to determine, Hawk," the Asgardian says at last in response to Clint's question, and then turns to him. His head tilts a little. "How do you feel?"

"What happened?" Steve demands instead and he can't keep the frustration from his voice as much as he'd like too, "I promise I don't think I'm going to burst into spontaneous flames. Someone please  _explain_."

A look passes between the four. It's long and shares a deep exhaustion. Confusion flutters through him, but it's not unusual now. This feels like a disaster. Hilarious. They're way beyond "feels like" now. This  _is_ a disaster.

Loki shakes his head slightly and slowly lowers fully to the ground in front of Steve, keeping his left hand tucked next to his body. His face pinches a little before he sighs, "From what I understand, someone invaded your mind while you slept."

Invaded…?

The...

Steve feels his expression drop with open horror. It wasn't a dream. Oh, gosh, it  _wasn't_ a dream, but it should have been because  _that wasn't_ "someone"  _that was Wanda._ His teammate is alive. She contacted him in his dreams. She invaded his mind.

She's alive, so the others must be, too.

"Wanda." Steve blurts out without meaning to, and, like a five-year-old that's said a bad word, promptly slams his hands over his mouth. Loki's expression furrows further, but Steve sees Thor and Rocket's faces dawn with recognition and feels Clint's hand still against his back.

Loki glances at Thor, then him, Thor again, and then returns to him, lips parting: "Who is Wanda?"

A flurry of answers immediately spills from every mouth but Thor's, yet Loki doesn't seem frustrated by the overlapping words in the slightest. He listens until they all quiet, and then turns to Thor. "Midgard's sorcerers can't  _do_ telepathy."

How does he know that?

Thor shrugs and makes a so-so gesture with his hands.

Loki's lips purse slightly before he shakes his head and looks back at Steve, "Regardless...this woman attempted to invade your head, but the distance between you two was putting significant strain on your mind. It was pulling your head apart."

Steve stomach clenches a little, "And?"

"I...threw her out," Loki explains with that awful rasping croak, hands fluttering as if flustered, "there wasn't much fight, but we're still seeing if she'll try again."

Suddenly everything seems to make a  _click_ in his head, and he sits up fully, grabbing at nothing. "Wait—no,  _don't,"_ he demands, voice harsher than he meant for it to be, "let her do it."

Silence settles over the group for a long second; as if they're attempting to contemplate a large bout of stupidity, find themselves incapable, and then try again. Loki regains himself first, and his lips part, tongue noiseless for a moment before he speaks, "I really don't think that—"

"No, you don't understand," Steve insists, "Bucky was there—Tony's kid, and Dr. Strange, and Na—"

Loki grabs his shoulders, "She is  _tearing_ apart your brain, Captain. I don't care  _who_ you claim to have seen. You woke us that night with your screaming."

Steve stills, his tongue suddenly heavy. That's...how...he doesn't remember that.

"I...what?" Steve questions helplessly.

"Yeah," Rocket inputs, paws clenched tightly, "howling like you were getting an arm severed or somethin'."

Oh. Embarrassment flutters through him, and his fists clench. "Sorry," he murmurs, rubbing at his forehead.

"Given that you didn't  _ask_  for a possession, I'm not inclined to pin the blame on you," Loki assures, and Thor's hand rests on his sibling's shoulder suddenly as Loki seems to wobble a little. Steve's brow furrows with confusion on that.

" _Possession?"_ Steve mimics, "it wasn't a possession. She was just...trying to talk to me. From wherever she is."

Loki's eyebrows lift with what looks like amusement, "Lost her, did you?"

Yes.

He did.

But not like  _that._

Clint's rubbing at his forehead, and the action catches Steve's attention, "I don't understand. She's been dead for five years, and there is  _no way_ that she could contact you. Not  _now._ And why wait until  _now?_ " Clint counters, voice skeptical.

"She  _was_ there," Steve insists with frustration. He felt her there. He  _knows_ it was her.

Loki frowns, "Dead? As in she was slain in battle?"

"No, she vanished after Thanos snapped," Steve answers, rubbing under his eyes in exasperation and confusion. He is  _so_ tired. He wants to sleep for a long,  _long_ time. They don't have the time, and he was  _just_ sleeping.

Loki looks at Thor as if confused, and when Thor's face doesn't hold the answers he wants, turns back to Steve. "Don't...don't you  _know_ that she's in the Soul Stone?"

...What?

"I don't understand," Steve breathes. "She's  _in_ the...what?"

"Since the snap, I would assume," Loki explains, and, at Steve's continuing confusion breathes out slightly and appends with a better reasoning: "But the Soul Stone was destroyed, so the victims of the-Thanos's attack have been wandering spirits since their bodies and minds were taken. You  _can't_ kill a soul. But you brought the Stone  _back_ to the present, and they were pulled into the Stone as a result of Romanov opening the door for them again. If she hadn't, they would have been formless, and you snapping your fingers again wouldn't have mattered."

Natasha opening the…

But if the Vanished aren't  _dead_ because of Natasha then…

_Then…_

"Nat's dead," Rocket states firmly, if a little shaken, "she couldn't have opened the door for anyone.  _She's too busy being dead."_

Loki shakes his head, shifting his weight from his right side and folds his arms across his chest. "No, she's in the Soul Stone."

Steve's stomach does a hopeful fluttering that he immediately tries to quell. He can't jump at this. He's tired of getting his hopes up only to have them crushed. Every solution since 2018 has made a disaster or simply not worked. Scott wasn't the first time they tried to fix this, he's just the one they've made the most progress with.

Steve  _wants_ Natasha to come back. He wants her to live and be happy, but he can't grasp this with both hands.

"What?" The question fell from his lips, but he hardly recognizes his own voice. It sounds faint, almost sickly.

Loki looks between them before sighing deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose as if amazed by their stupidity. "What I know of the Soul Stone is admittedly limited. Asgard has— _had_  it's resources, but most of what I learned of it came from a place I don't feel inclined to share. A soul for a soul is what I've heard, but what I  _know_ is that Agent Romanov gave her soul for the Stone. But this isn't the first time the trade has been done, Captain."

And that—

The Soul Stone has been traded for before...but if that  _is_ the case, then the Stone has to go back to whatever hole it crawled out of to  _make_  the trade again, otherwise it  _should_ have been running around the universe like the other five. Natasha and Gamora's lives were given for the Stone, but they couldn't have done that unless the Stone was returned.

"What are you saying?" Clint's voice is barely above a breath.

Loki's gaze flicks to the archer for a moment before returning to him, "I'm  _saying_  that you have to bargain for her soul again. She was traded for the Stone, you have to trade the Stone for her."

_Clint traded my soul, and you need to trade to get it back._

Rocket looks as if he's been slapped, and murmurs a word under his breath Steve thinks is "Gamora". Clint presses the back of his hand against his mouth. Thor's breath catches. They can still save Natasha. They can still bring her back. She's not dead. Not  _really. They can still fix this._

"What do we have to do?" Steve questions.

Loki shakes his head and shrugs a little, "I'm uncertain. I've never traded for it before, and the only person I suspect has is on Alfheim. Rotting, I should add, he's been dead for over two centuries." Loki rubs at his forehead as if trying to keep back a headache.

Steve's stance shifts a little, "Do you know anything else about the Stone?"

"No," Loki promises, "but even if I did, why would I tell you?"

"Because you're  _supposed_  to be helping us, Psychopath _,_ " Clint hisses, "and this information would have been helpful  _two days ago!_ "

Loki looks up at him, there is no anger in his eyes, only a wary defeat, "And if I had, then what? It serves no greater purpose now then it would have then."

Clint's fist clenches, but Thor shifts pointedly. As a warning.

"Hawk," Loki's voice is patient, but drained, "it didn't occur to me that you wouldn't know because I was a little busy being  _shot._ I heard you talking about returning her, and I assumed that's what you meant."

"We were just going to snap her back into existence," Steve admits, and Loki's lips split into a surprised, but strangely delighted laughter.

"And you think that simply because you had the six singulaturies, that if you  _wanted_ it enough, she'd return?" Loki asks rhetorically, shaking his head, " _Morons._ You  _have_ to trade for the retrieval of the soul, there is no other way to return her."

"And what the heck are we supposed to  _trade!?"_ Clint demands sharply.

"I don't know!" Loki hisses, "I don't know  _everything_ about the Soul Stone _._ Asgard hasn't cared, and my source was...it wasn't exactly a  _deeply_ enlightening discussion. Or really a discussion." Loki adds the last part after a hesitation, and shakes his head as if trying to jar something out of it. He looks dizzy, and Steve is suddenly aware of just how pale he is.

"Great!" Clint throws his hands up, "So we can save her, but there's no way to  _save_ her."

"This may come as a surprise to you, Agent Barton, but necromancy has never been much of a hobby of mine," Loki snips, "I can't pull the answer out of a  _hat."_

Clint turns, jerking a hand out, " _Stop_ trying to be  _funny!_ The only reason she's dead is because of  _Asgard_ —it ruined  _everything._ If you had never dropp the stupid Tesseract there and stopped treating Earth like your rubbish bin, then Nat would still be alive, and Laura and my kids and-and-and you killed  _everyone_ and you're not even  _sorry_ —"

"Clint, please," Thor's voice is barely audible.

Clint's jaw snaps shut with an audible click, and Steve tries to do his best not to openly gawk. Any words that slip from Thor's tongue now he either wants to frame, or applaud him on finally getting something out. Neither seem like they'd be very helpful, though, so he hasn't.

Clint sighs deeply, "I'm sorry."

"Are you?" Loki questions with doubt, and Steve waves a hand.

"No. No more of this, please, I am too tired to stop you from killing each other." The blatant honesty slipping from his lips makes him feel strangely ashamed, but he doesn't draw back. Instead, he leans forward a little and exhales from stiff lungs. "We have the Aether?"

_You do not belong here._

"Yeah," Rocket assures, rolling his shoulders a little, "locked and loaded, we can leave any time now."

"Good." Steve rubs at his head again and clicks his teeth together, a weird floating sensation grabbing at his mind for a second before settling. His stomach is rolling again, much the same as it did after they'd collected all the Stones and he was standing in the garage of the Compound. The Aether is less than ten feet from him, that's probably why.

And probably  _also_ why their tempers are short fused. Clint's always such a calm person. He doesn't anger easily, and to see him snapping so quickly has been disorienting.

Steve turns to Clint, "Help me up?"

Clint nods and hobbles up to his feet before grasping Steve's forearm and hauling him upwards. The world spins and Steve nearly topples forward completely, but Clint steadies him. He turns to look at Rocket, Thor, and Loki. "Let's just get back to the Compound, okay? We'll deal with all of this there."

"Sounds swell," Rocket grumbles.

Thor rises to his feet and helps his sibling to his. Loki still looks ghost-like, but it isn't nearly as awful as it was earlier. Which…

"I just have one question," Steve says, lifting a hand a little and grinding his heels into the dirt in order to keep himself upright, "why on earth were you pulling the Aether from  _Loki?_ Wasn't it in Dr. Foster?"

Rocket snorts, " _That_ is a long story. To shorten for time purposes, have you ever wondered how the Aether was collected in London after Thor killed Malekith?"

Steve pauses, his eyebrows meeting before he shakes his head slowly. No. He hadn't. He thought that S.H.I.E.L.D. just...but that's weird because the Aether  _exploded_ when Malekith was killed. Steve saw footage as he and the other Avengers were traveling to England to help with the cleanup.

It had never occurred to him to  _wonder_ because Thor left a few days later with the Aether collected in something similar to the Tesseract's the container. He…

Steve looks up at Rocket, and then slowly lifts his gaze to Loki and his teeth snap together. " _You—?"_

"Collected the Aether?" Loki interjects, picking dully at his right palm, "Yes. I saw Malekith draw it from Jane and had a general idea of what I was doing." Thor makes a face so completely in disagreement with that statement that Steve barely represses an open laugh. Loki apparently catches his sibling's expression from the corner of his eye because he scowls a little, " _Fine._ No, I didn't do it right, but  _where_ was I supposed to learn how to collect a fluid  _Infinity Stone,_ Thor?"

Thor's eyebrows lift.

Loki hits his upper arm a little, pointing a finger up at his face, "No, don't start that. I know that face—"

" _Basically,"_ Rocket interrupts, "we drew it from Loki because he decided that using his body as a transport was a good idea, and it didn't occur to any of us that an Infinity Stone would, well, you know,  _eat_ his sorcery, so it was killing him a  _lot_ faster than Dr. Foster, and that was causing problems, but we couldn't get it out without triggering the defense system, so we cut open the wound's stitches, and, as long as I didn't touch the skin with the needle we had no problems. Then you woke up, and yeah, here we are. Can we please stop story time and  _go?"_

Steve winces.

"Yeah. Sorry. On three?" Steve lifts up his hand and tries not to promptly topple forward at the sudden dizzy unbalance. What the heck is  _wrong_ with his head? He bites his tongue to withhold  _voicing_ this questions and sees the others nod around him, hands rising.

Steve grips the time-watch with two fingers, trying to remember which way he needs to turn it.

"All right. One, two—" on one, Steve flicks it to the right and feels the now familiar tug in his gut as his pulled backwards and the white armor spreads over his skin in a protective embrace. It feels cold and itchy against his skin, but Steve hardly cares about that. The swirl of kaleidoscopic colors embraces them in the tunnels before Steve's feet slam into the hard metal of the Compound.

A shock jostles up through his knees, but Steve keeps himself from falling onto his hands in knees a deep relief settling into his stomach.

It worked.

They came  _back._

Tony and Bruce's math was right, and Loki's corrections didn't get them lost.

_Thank you._

He hears the sound of four other feet slamming into the metal beside him. Feeling the armor slowly draw away, he looks up. Tony or Bruce, perhaps both, should be sitting at the desk waiting for them because someone had to activate it from this end. Steve's faint smile of relief slides from his lips when he doesn't see either of them.

Instead, a low whine of one of Rocket's guns whizzes to life and Not-Nebula, sitting on a chair with her feet propped on the desk gives a faint smile with a little wave. "Hey boys. Have a good trip?"

What?

_How did she—?_

Tony. Bruce. Rhodey. Scott.

 _No._ Are they okay? Did she—?  _What did she do?_

Steve's hand goes to grab at his shield—when did he pick it up?—swinging it off of his back to throw, but before any of them have time to do much more than grab for their weapons, Not-Nebula fires her gun.

A jolt of electricity slams into Loki first and he staggers before toppling forward with a loud cry of pain. The whir rouses again and Steve raises his shield, but the next blast is for Rocket. Clint fires a round of arrows at the cyborg, but Nebula scoots out of the way on the rolling chair and rises to her feet, looking perfectly  _calm._

"What are you doing in here?" Steve demands, but his voice feels faint.  _How_ did she get in here?

Not-Nebula's gun powers again and she rolls to the side, briefly vanishing from his view. She snorts, "You left me with access to the computer," she remarks, "there was a drive in the desk. Fools. I don't know why my father fears you."

Clint swears sharply, flicking a look towards him as he fires three arrows at a time. "Yeah. Sorry, this one's on me."

Nebula jumps from her position and fires another round of the blast, but all of them manage to dodge it this time.

Loki and Rocket are violently twitching from their positions on the floor and Rocket is wheezing like he's dying.

Panic swirls in his stomach.

Steve throws his shield towards Not-Nebula and notices for the first time Tony and Bruce laying on the ground behind the desk. Half of the assembled suit is spread around Tony's body, and there's a pool of red beneath Bruce's head.

Are they dead? He can't tell if they're breathing.

 _Please, God,_ please,  _don't—_

He tastes ozone in the air and can feel Thor summoning electricity before he realizes his mistake. A shield is a  _shield_ and Steve  _threw_ his. The jolt of the stun singes through his nerves a loud cry of pain escapes him as he loses all power in his limbs. He topples onto his side heavily, his head smacking against the hard ground and something close to a wail slips from his lips.

Clint joins him on the floor all too soon, and Steve, through gasping ragged breaths, wonders how none of them saw this  _coming._ Not-Nebula had the element of surprise, and it took them so much longer than it should have for them to attack. She was  _waiting_ for them.

She could have left them trapped there, but she didn't, which means that she wants something.

Oh, gosh, he can't  _think._

_Please, please, please._

It takes a little longer, but Steve distantly makes out, through blurry, hazed vision, as Thor topples to his back, blood gushing from somewhere. Nebula's sword is out, and Steve can see her drop his shield at Thor's feet.

His limbs are twitching and his breath won't come out right. He wants to curl in on his stomach, but he can't control his limbs.

He's paralyzed.

Not-Nebula's booted feet pass near his face and Steve feels words slip from his lips but he can't hear them.

Rocket built this gun as a prototype when he and Nebula took on a job against some sort of giant creatures that were resilient to pretty much everything, but the place they invaded was a swamp. Steve can remember when he proudly dumped it on the counter he and Nat were making dinner on and said that there's enough voltage to leave someone almost dead.

They didn't use it because Nebula pointed out that shooting electricity in a swamp would be stupid. She was in medical at the time, Steve doesn't remember what for.

Why does this  _matter_ so much?

It's all he can think about.

Not-Nebula gives a wary sigh, and Steve feels some drawn up exhaustion when he realizes he's pleading "please". Blood is dripping down his head. Steve can see it trailing down his nose like water.

Tony.

Bruce.

Rhodey. Lang.  _What did she do to them?_

Not-Nebula slides away from his view, murmuring something like "that was easier than expected" under her breath.

Steve doesn't know anything more. The blood pools into his eyes, and his consciousness slips away from him.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% I believe that no one was running around in the Soul Stone because there wasn't a Soul Stone to run around in. Given that it's here for a little longer...yeah. And I mean, Wanda is a telepath, but she's not a trained telepath, and, given the distance she was trying to reach-because it seems ridiculous to me that no one would not try to reach out-she's going to cause some problems.
> 
> Also, I have no idea how S.H.I.E.L.D. cleaned up the Aether in TDW, but Loki collecting it made sense. :)
> 
> Anyway. Thank you guys so much for your continued support, I have appreciated it so much more than I can say. You are all so amazing, don't forget that. =)
> 
> Next chapter: July 5th. Until then! :) Hugs and iced water for everyone! ;D 
> 
> (PS, bring tissues for chpt. 9. *sharpens killing knife* I mean, not like I plan to KILL anyone. Haha, haha, that would just be...haha...*backs up with wind chime noises*)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, I have so many of you worried about the kill-knife! :D But, my stars, this is just the beginning. ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for your support-truly! I am beyond words! :)
> 
> Warnings: Some violence, THANOS IS A SADIST, some description of injury.

* * *

Water pours over his head, snapping him awake.

He grabs for his sedir in panic, but it recoils away from him, leaving only a burning trail in its wake. His veins feel as though they might expand and then explode. Every part of him is sickly, and he feels pathetically weak. The effort to twitch his hand nearly sends him back under again.

_Curse the stupid Aether._

_Sleep…_

_Sleep..._

_Something is wrong._

The barrel of a gun presses against his head, and Loki's eyes peel open with panic, gaze flicking up towards the source. Nebula's hard eyes meet his, and her lips press into a thin line, "Get up," she commands, voice hard.

Loki stares at her, confused for a long second. This...he's not...this is the Avenger's Compound, his limbs and body ache from carrying the Aether, not because the Master spoke with him recently. Not because...not because of  _that._ He's not there anymore.

He hasn't been for years.

What happened?

Where is Thor?

Where—a shudder rushes through his limbs again, and Loki has to bite his tongue to keep himself from vomiting. A quick, flitted glance around him reveals the Captain, Rocket, and the Hawk all laying face down on the floor towards his left. Thor is on his back towards his left with blood leaking from a wound on his head.

Thor.

_Thor._

He needs—

Nebula's gun digs deeper into his wet hair and faintly he hears the clipping noise as plastic lands on the ground. A water bottle. She dumped a water bottle over his head. The gun hurts. His hands keep shaking.

He's going to fall on his nose.

He licks his dry, split lips and quietly longs for water to drink. A ragged breath escapes his chest, but he clenches his fists tightly. Thor is right there. He doesn't have to do this again. He's not  _going_ to.

"No," Loki whispers, and the gun digs deeper into his skull. He flinches at the sensation, and finally notices that the entire room is darker than it should be. The only light comes from the large window on in front of him, but that's dimming. There isn't even the persistent sound of the Midgardian machines.

There is no power.

A deep coil of dread tightens around him like a noose.

"You think this some sort of game?" Nebula hisses, " _Get. Up."_

Loki digs his nails into his palm and he forces his shaking nerves to settle. " _No,"_ he repeats, "I thought you were stuffed into a room somewhere. You're hardly someone parading enough importance to direct me anymore."

Nebula's eyes flash, and she slams the butt of her gun against his head. Loki flinches, gasping sharply as he lifts a hand up to reach for the area, but Nebula's cybernetic hand grabs his wrist before he can reach it. With heavy force, she all but drags him up to his feet. Loki sways, hardly able to latch at a center of gravity helpful enough.

His vision is blurring.

Desperately, he reaches for his sedir only to find it shy away from him sharply and angrily. The pain of that is nearly staggering, and he coughs sharply, spitting blood onto the floor. Miss Foster has no idea how  _lucky_ she is that she doesn't carry a drop of sorcery on her. She would have been dead before they made it Svatherheim if she had.

He had it in him for what? An  _hour_ and look what it did to him.

Nebula's gun presses in between his shoulder blades, drawing him back to the present, "You know I'm not afraid to do it, Laufeyson," she hisses, and Loki hates himself for the visible tremble that passes across his spine.

"What do you  _want?"_ Loki hisses, "If you meant to kill me, you would have done it when you  _knocked me out."_

It felt like getting struck head-on by a bolt of  _lightning._

Nebula snorts, but her laughter is dead. "I'm not going to be the person who carries out your death, you've been far too much of an inconvenience to me. Besides, my father's been inventive in his suggestions, and I'd rather like to see them come into play," she sneers. Loki squeezes his eyes shut, breathing out sharply.

_My father would like to speak with you, Little King._

" _What_ do you  _want?"_ Loki counters, attempting to squirm from her grip as she tugs him forward. Their feet pass by Thor, and Loki struggles desperately to see if he's breathing, but they move forward to quickly.

_Please. Please. Please._

A glance at the Captain's chest reveals the thin rattle of breath, and he can hear faint moans from his hawk, and the wheezes from the raccoon. Why can't he hear Thor's?

_Please. Please. Please._

Desperation claws through him and he twists, bringing his foot up to ram into her hip. Her grip is torn from him and Loki gyrates, running towards Thor and lands next to him on his knees. He skids somewhat, twitching limbs unable to keep their balance as well as he'd appreciate.

_Please. Please. Please._

Loki lifts his fingers beneath Thor's nose and his eyes squeeze shut a little noise of relief escape him as he feels the faint whisper of air on his fingers. His fingers stray to feel for a pulse, but a hand grabs at his shoulder and pulls him away.

Loki lashes out wildly with his fist, but Nebula grabs his wrist, eyes heated.

She pulls him back and pressure compresses in his chest, "No—wait!  _Let me—"_

Nebula doesn't care. She pulls him back and presses her gun against his head; Loki can't do much more than stagger after her. His nerves still feel jumbled and not like his own. Loki wipes his wet hair away from his face, scowling at the back of Nebula's head. "What do you  _want_ from me?"

Nebula pulls him off of the platform and Loki's stomach sinks with a wailing despair as he sees Stark and Bruce laying face down. Bruce's head is surrounded by a pool of blood and Stark's eyes are closed. He's not close enough to determine if they're breathing or  _alive._

"You're expendable." Nebula says at last, evenly, and Loki's eyebrows furrow. "My father wants the honor of killing them himself," she jerks her head in the Avenger's direction, "but  _you_ can hold Infinity Stones with your bare hands. I can't."

"What…?" Loki's head shakes a little as Nebula drags him out of the garage. The entire building seems to echo and radiate its disapproval with their presence.

"And my father will be pleased to have his dog back," she adds as an almost after thought before tearing open a door and shoving him inside. The sensation of the Infinity Stones rolling power smacks into him face-first, and Loki nearly draws back as his senses heighten the faint whispers begin to murmur at him.

Oh,  _Norns._

_No._

_Not again._

The Stones are all sitting inside of one of the Iron Man gloves. Space, Mind, Time, Soul, Reality, and Power—they're all there. Loki looks back at Nebula for a second eyebrows furrowing. "You don't need me to—"

"Of course not." Nebula hisses sharply and releases his arm.

Loki stares at her, wary.

Nebula blows out a sharp breath, and her fingers fist around the edge of the table, "I need your help," the words come out of her throat as if pulled, and Loki draws back a little before a breath of laughter slips from his lips without his consent.

Help.

She needs  _his_ help.

Nebula looks at him angrily, "I'm serious."

Loki folds his arms across his chest, " _What_ on the Nine would I possibly  _help_ you with? In case it slipped your notice, you tortured me until I nearly choked on my own blood."

Nebula flinches, "I did. But that was before…" she shakes her head, "You don't understand. This is the one chance I have at killing my father, and I need you to help me."

Loki's lips split into a disbelieving simper.

Ha. She really believes that Loki will take her word for this after  _watching_ her run around hobbling after Thanos like a sick pup thirsty for attention? Why the sudden change? Loki's stomach clenches into a tight knot, but he keeps his face placid. After a moment, he raises an eyebrow. "Why the change of heart?"

Nebula flexes her living hand in discomfort, flicking her eyes to the floor. "One of the Avengers...he said that he learned this trick for his daughter and I...it doesn't matter. I've never liked him, and I hate him. Now seems like a good time more than any to get rid of him, right?"

Loki stares at her for a long second, then clicks his tongue, "For the daughter of a known manipulator, you are an  _awful_ liar."

Nebula's fists clench and she turns to him sharply, " _Shut up!_ You don't understand. This is the one time in my life I have the opportunity to do something  _right,_  and you have to help me."

"No." Loki shakes his head, narrowing his eyes a little as he leans forward to stare at her, "This...this is vendetta." Something uncomfortable settles in his stomach and his face falls, "Nebula, what happened to Gamora?"

Nebula stiffens, muttering a swear under her breath. "Oh, I  _hate_ you." She whispers.

Loki lifts an eyebrow, adjusting the position of his feet so he can stay upright. He doesn't say anything, and Nebula explains after a few more seconds of silence between them: "It was in the flight of the moment. My father promised my redemption to him, and I want that." She squeezes her eyes shut as if admitting an awful secret, "I want it so  _terribly,_ but not at the cost of my only family."

_The Tesseract or your brother's head. I assume you have a preference?_

Loki shakes the memory off.

"He slaughtered her for the Soul Stone, I saw it. In  _this_ Nebula's memories." Nebula murmurs and Loki's eyebrows raise with surprise. Gamora was traded for...oh. Yes. If Thanos already snapped, then...the trade would have had to have been made before Romanov sacrificed herself for the deed.

Wait—

"You're not…" Loki's eyebrows narrow slightly, "what  _year_ are you from, then?"

"Nine years before this one." Nebula looks exhausted. Loki can't help but let his surprise openly show on his face. Oh. All this time...he didn't...he wasn't sure what he thought Nebula was doing. Rocket is rather attached to her, but Loki couldn't fathom why.

Nine years.

Nine.

And this is  _still_ after 2012? What  _year_ is it?

Nebula shakes her head, "We don't have time for this. My father is waiting."

Loki lifts up a hand, " _Wait._ I didn't agree to anything, and I don't even know what it  _is_ that you want my help with." He nearly swallow the last few words. They sound so comical coming from his lips. This must be some sort of dream.

Nebula exhales sharply through her nose, lifting a finger out towards him. "I'm trying to save your life, you moron. And in return, you'll help me keep the Infinity Gauntlet from my father."

Loki blinks, his lips parting a little and stuffs his shaking hands across his chest. "... _What?"_

"My father knows you're here," Nebula explains with clear frustration, "I told him when I gave my report. He wants me to bring you to him so he can kill you. I'm also to bring the Infinity Stones before Thanos slaughters these Avengers. I don't know how, or if it will be by his own hand, but he's going to kill them all. Including you."

_If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no rock, no barren moon—_

_Breathe in. Out. In..._

"Ergo?" Loki presses, gnawing on his inner gums to hide his discomfort.

Her jaw grits, "My father would have caught up with you eventually. I know that you know this. Why wane out the inevitable? He's demanded an audience with you."

_My father's been meaning to speak with you, Little King._

Loki stares at her, clawing for his sedir in an attempt to formulate  _some_ sort of plan, but nothing comes to mind. His sedir still shies away from him angrily, leaving the burn in its wake. "He's...he's…" Loki curses how pathetic his voice is. "You...you plan to...what exactly?"

Nebula slams her gun on the table, swearing angrily. "I don't know! He can't keep the Gauntlet, but he'll kill everyone here, including your brother, if I don't report back to him. If I can show him the Gauntlet, there is a chance he'll delay their slaughter."

Thor.

Thor is still  _here._ So is everyone else.

"You don't know how it's going to happen," Loki states flatly. "How do  _I_ fit into this?"

Nebula squeezes her eyes shut as she rubs at her head with a charred cybernetic hand, "Getting you out of the building, at least, guarantees you'll live."

" _And?"_

"We can settle this." Nebula looks up at him, "I nearly killed you two years ago. I know that. You aren't my first victim, but I've never seen my father work harder to destroy and rebuild someone in so little time. Gamora was horrified, did you know that?" She shakes her head a little, as if sickend, "She was loyal to a fault until you staggered out of the  _Sanctuary_ to get the Tesseract. It nearly got her killed several times. I hate you."

"Mutual." Loki promises, gnawing on his gums sharply.  _Come on, think of something, you idiot._ He can't. Everything is a scattered mess and, for the love of Yggdrasil, will his hands  _please_ stop shaking!?

_What? Silvertongue turn to lead?_

_Shut up._

Nebula grabs the Infinity Gauntlet, "I don't have a plan. I only want to kill my father, and  _you_ to get this—" she lifts up the Gauntlet and the Stones lurch at him with their powerful tendrils. Loki nearly takes a step back at the sheer  _power_ rolling off of them, "—as far away from Thanos as possible. Can you do that?"

Maybe. He doesn't know. Thanos has an army. Loki has what? Broken sedir, a silvertongue, no weapons, no backup plan, no assistance. It's just him. Against Thanos. And that worked so well before.

Thor.

Thor is still here, and Loki needs to make sure he's okay. Along with the other Avengers. He can't leave them for  _dead._ He knows that Nebula is attempting to smuggle him out so when Thanos slaughters the rest, he won't be close enough to join the fray, but Loki won't let Thanos kill his sibling.

He  _won't._

Nebula lifts a sword off of her person and lifts the hilt out to him. Loki stares at it, then flicks his gaze up to the Luphomoid. Her gaze is steady, and her voice was sincere. She's an awful liar anyway, so he's not concerned about deception.

She's offering him a weapon, and to take it would mean that she trusts him enough not to behead her on the spot. She really believes that this is the only solution to their problem.

To take it would also means he agrees.

"You attacked us," Loki states without lifting a muscle to take the sword. "You nearly killed them. Why would I help you when you could have asked  _them?_ I'm no hero, Nebula. Why do you think I would  _trust_ you?"

Nebula grits her teeth, "I could have killed all of you, but I didn't. Please. I have nothing else. Thanos is waiting. Do you agree or not?"

Loki snaps his jaw together tightly.

_Forbannesler._

Thor.

Thor is still—Bruce was laying in his own blood. He can't do  _anything_ to help them if he's dead. He needs to play with this because he has no other options. He can't touch his sedir because of that Norn's cursed Aether, he has no weapons on his person, and whatever jolt of electricity Nebula shot him with before has messed his nerves up so awfully he doesn't know if he'll ever stop  _grinding_ when he moves.

All he has is his silvertongue.

He takes a step forward, quietly pleading with anyone listening to leave the Avengers and his brother alive long enough for him to return and help. He can fix this. Maybe. Hopefully.  _Please._

Keeping eye contact with the Luphomoid, Loki grabs the weapon and pulls it from her grip. "Fine."

000o000

Some minutes later, Loki and Nebula exit the Avengers Compound. Nebula insisted there wasn't time to check on the Avengers or Thor, assuring him that she didn't kill them (because he'd simply take her  _word_ for it), and so the two of them exit, Loki as uncertain about his siblings fate as he was when he woke up.

As in accordance with their ruse, Loki has concealed the weapon in his clothing, and Nebula has a small gun pressed against his head with her living hand as she hauls the Gauntlet with the other. Loki keeps his voice devoid of emotion as he tries to keep his fists from trembling.

Nebula's hands have tightened in their agitation, and Loki can clearly see that she's unsettled.

"You're going to give us away before we get there." Loki hisses, "Can you relax?"

Nebula shoots a scowl at him, "I  _can't._ I don't know why I thought this was a good idea. I should just shoot you now," she mumbles the thoughts aloud, and Loki does his best not to stop in hesitation.  _Norns,_ he's such an idiot. Why did he agree to this?

Thor.

He needs to keep Thor safe.

If Nebula can succeed, Thanos will be dead, and he won't get the opportunity to touch Thor again. "Please don't," Loki breathes out quietly.

"Gamora is going to kill me or hate me," Nebula whispers, "why are we doing this? Thanos's is right. He's always right, and I'm being foolish."

Loki digs his teeth into his gums.  _Think. Think. Think._

"No," Loki agrees without conviction. "But it is  _your_ choice what happens. Gamora would want that. Trust me, as a leading guide in dysfunctional family relationships—"

Nebula slaps him with the butt of her weapon.

Loki's teeth snap onto his tongue, deeply, and he blinks several times with surprise and pain. His vision blurs somewhat, and Loki wipes blood from the edge of his mouth with the corner of his palm. Nebula shoves him forward harshly.

"Shut  _up."_ She seethes, "You don't  _know_ me."

Loki smiles thinly, sweeping his gaze across her pointedly, "I really don't think there's that much complexity, is there?"

Nebula lets out an audible noise of frustration, "Shut up.  _Shut up!_ I know what you are, murderer, and you are hardly someone to be giving speeches about redemption. My father won't  _let_ me change, and he won't  _let you—_ stop trying to pretend this is anything different. Talk again and I'll rip out your tongue."

Loki doesn't doubt it, and snaps his teeth together so quickly is clicks.

Nebula seems vaguely amused beneath the visible despair she's showing.

The truth of her words stings both of them.

Nebula breathes out deeply, "Let's just get this over with." She presses her gun against his head again and shoves him forward roughly. Loki lets her. This display is all for show, but the words have admittedly unsettled him.

She doesn't think this will be successful.

Why should  _he?_

The night air is crisp, but not quite cold. It smells awfully, though. Exactly how he recalls New York in 2012. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and flicks his gaze across the space, looking for an escape route. He can't find one.

Not one where he can reach Thor first.

And he's not leaving his older brother behind again.

Nebula shoves him through the surrounding field of the Avengers Compound, and Loki's gaze flicks up as he sees a thick shadow, not caused by the clouds, swarming over everything. His breath hitches in his chest in recognition.

The  _Sanctuary._

Nebula pushes him through the field, underneath the shadow of the  _Sanctuary,_  and the closer towards figure standing in the distance. Thanos. He skips over his step at the sight, and almost stumbles completely.

He's going to be  _ill._

_Your faith is misplaced, Asgardian._

Nebula shoves him forward, "Move," she demands. Loki does so, and can't help as his limbs stiffen. They wont move right, and his hands keep shaking or giving out suddenly from the stupid jitter from the blast.

He didn't find a heartbeat.

Bruce was—

Stark—

_Thor. Thor is still in the building. As is everyone else, including the Hawk._

Thor might be—

The M-Thanos turns when they get close enough, and Loki's lungs tighten with terror. This is different than the  _Statesmen_ somehow. Maybe it's the fact that he—mostly—came to terms with his fate when the Black Order rounded on him with their weapons. He knew he was to die, then, but  _this_ Thor had arrived and suddenly there was hope.

He was such a fool to cling to that.

Whether this timeline or another, he isn't meant for much more than the slaughterhouse.

"Father," Nebula greets, releasing him at last, and the Titan's eyes flick to her for a second; something in his gaze Loki can't quite place. Perhaps pride...maybe trepidation. "I come baring gifts," she kneels before him, but Loki refuses to sink his knees. He thinks if he tries he'll only collapse. "The Infinity Gauntlet, and the Jotun traitor."

The Ma-Thanos's gaze lifts from his daughter to him, and Loki feels a tremble pass through him. He clenches his shaking fists by his side. He's quiet for a long moment. "I  _still_ haven't killed you yet?" The Master questions, and there's something frustrated in the question.

Maybe, given different circumstances, Loki would have laughed at that.

Loki parts his lips with effort, but his voice is small, "No, my lord,"

"Hmm. Pity," the Master murmurs, then, louder he says: "You know how failure is treated, Little King, it really was a matter of time before you met your proper judgement; but I am sorry." He raises his double bladed sword, and arches his hand to swing it. Loki squeezes his eyes shut, hands graphing to reach his sedir, but it flees from him, leaving only the now familiar burn in its wake.

Nebula lied to him. This must be the only explanation. She dragged him out her under the guise of needing his assistance, but it was all for naught. He's going to get  _beheaded._ Norns, he doesn't—he's not  _ready._

Thor is still out there.

No one is going to save them if he doesn't.

The metal swings through the air, and Loki prepares for the sting as it hits him, but the noise halts at Nebula's voice: "Father, wait!"

Loki peels his eyes open, a sharp breath escaping him in deep relief.

The Master lifts his gaze to her, "You have done well my daughter, would you not trust my judgement?" The threat is light, but there. Nebula hasn't raised from her knees, the Master hasn't told her that she can, but her gaze keeps flicking between him and her father.

"No, never," she swears, "but think. He was a means to an end with the Tesseract, but there is much more he could do for us, Father. You know the power that hides beneath his skin."

The Master pauses, and then his piercing stare lifts from Nebula to him. Loki firmly stuffs down the urge to vomit. What is she  _doing?_ Nebula mentioned more creative ways to kill him...and maybe this is what...what it was. Controlling his sedir was something they couldn't achieve before his invasion, and it was a small relief. Had his full power been unleashed, Thor's mortals would have been dead before Odin sent him.

Oh, Norns,  _Thor._

The Master cannot get the Infinity Stones. He  _can't;_ Thor could have died for their safe retrieval. For the retrieval of the trillions of souls that now rest on the Master's head. The Midgardians have just died in an effort to protect this last effort to save them.

Loki is not a hero, that much has been reassured to him enough since birth, but he isn't going to let them die in vain. He once promised Thor to trust his rage, and maybe that's all he has now, because the rest of him is only terrified. He's not brave. Not for this.

"That may be," the Master agrees after some consideration; his weapon draws a little closer to Loki's neck, and his body tenses further. "Maybe your service has not yet met its end. I will let you live, Little King, if you show your willingness to submit. Kiss my boot."

Loki's head flicks up to the Master's, and a knot of heated humiliation slides through his fingers.

This is…

No.

_No._

The Master's face doesn't suggest that this is some sort of joke, and a distant, exhausted part of him, recognizes it as the truth. To expect something different...he's learned better by now. The tip of the blade presses against his neck and slowly, shakily, Loki lowers to his hands and knees.

His throat is dry.

He has to withhold a bodily jump of surprise when Nebula slowly lowers the Infinity Gauntlet to the ground and their eyes briefly meet. Her face is collected, but he can see the faint tremble in her living hand. She gives him a brief nod and Loki's stomach clenches with anticipation.

Her meaning is obvious.

Loki's hands tighten around the dirt, and he stares at his hands for a long second.

Thor is dying.

He has no proof, but he  _knows._ He can feel it with every fiber of his being, and his chest constricts painfully at the thought. He reassured Thor that the sun would shine on them again, but Loki doesn't  _want_ the light if Thor isn't there to bask in it with him.

He resists the urge to squeeze his eyes shut before he gives a little nod of assurance.

She flicks her gaze away from him, hand straying slowly to her sword.

He forces his mind to settle, breathes out very slowly, and then tilts his head down as if to submit to the Master's request. When he's close enough to the ground, Loki drops completely, rolling swiftly towards Nebula and grabs the Infinity Gauntlet, diving out of the way as the Master's blade slams into the ground beside him.

The Stones thrum with power as they touch his skin, and the sensation rises bile in his throat. He jumps to his feet as Nebula rises to hers with a cry and snaps her remaining sword out, diving at her father with a loud yell.

Loki doesn't look back, but hears the smack as she collides with  _something._ Instead, he adjusts his hold on the Infinity Gauntlet, turns towards the rubble of the Avengers Compound just as Nebula instructed him  _not_ to do, and begins to  _run._

But that's when the missiles hit.

000o000

The sensation of water pooling over his head snaps him into consciousness properly, and Thor gasps, shaking limbs struggling to support his body as he shoves upwards to his hands and knees, nearly tumbling face-first onto his nose again.

What.

_What—?_

Smoke is rising around him and water is dribbling down from the broken ceiling. The daylight that Thor can vaguely remember is missing. The darkness is swallowing everything hungrily, and Thor's mind seizes with irrational terror.

Dark. It's dark and dark and  _dark and—_

"Thor!" A hand grabs at his shoulder, attempting to tip him backwards. " _Thor!"_

He knows that voice.

A metallic item crashes near his knees, and Thor's eyes widen as he recognizes it. That's... _what?_   _That_ is the Infinity Gauntlet. Made with Tony's Iron Man suit, but Gauntlet all the same.

He tries to recoil from it with disgust and horror.

That ruined  _everything._

"Brother,  _please,"_ Loki shifts in front of him, eyes wide. He looks spooked, almost like a child with an irrational fear of the dark. He's gripping both of Thor's shoulders and Thor finally lifts his gaze up to his sibling.

His voice catches in his throat, and Thor blinks several times as he tries to  _will_ himself into staying awake.

"We need to hurry, he's coming, please," Loki starts to tug him up to his feet, but both of them pause as the ceiling creaks loudly. Thor's head whips up warily, and Loki flinches in on himself. It's groaning as if it intends to give in completely, and Thor is suddenly aware of how much he doesn't want to be buried under a building.

"Wh…" That's as far as he gets in his question before there's a little stutter in his throat and his voice is swallowed.

Loki's eyes widen with anxiety, and he pulls him forward. "Thor,  _come."_

His head hurts, and his side is on fire. Thor lifts a hand up to touch it, and notes with detachment that his hand comes away red. He's bleeding, but he can't remember getting the wound. He can't even remember the ceiling collapsing, not really. There's the faint sound of booming, and then nothing until the water dripping on his face.

There was a broken pipe above him.

Memories surge into his consciousness, and Thor's stomach drops. Where are the others? Nebula attacked them, and everyone was hit with that weird blaster-thing, but Thor destroyed it with a bolt of lightning before she could hit him. Then, there's the sensation of her sword digging into his side before she slammed him with the hilt several times.

After that, nothing.

Not until  _now._

Where are the others?

Are they okay?

Why does Loki have the Gauntlet? Thor can see it gleaming in the faint light. The Stones are whispering at him, murmuring words of assurance and cries that they can help.

It's corrupted, but Thor wants to grab it.

Why shouldn't he? They can—

"Thor!" Loki grabs his shoulders, rattling him back and forth and snapping him into the present, "Focus. Please. We have to get out of here. He's  _coming!"_

Who?  _Who_ is coming?

Thor's lips part to ask, but Loki jumps suddenly, swinging around wildly in front of him. A sword Thor didn't know he had on his person snaps out and he lifts it into the broken tunnels that were once hallways and rooms around them.

Loki's breath is ragged, and Thor squints with confusion into the darkness. He knows better than to ignore his sibilng's instincts now, but he can't see anything.

Two figures step into their faint light, and Loki swings his sword out to meet them, but stops suddenly, less than an inch from one's nose. It's hard to make out their figures between his headache and the poor lighting, but he knows with a sudden surety that their skin's are blue and green.

Nebula (their Nebula? Or the evil one? Evil?  _That's_ the best word he can come up with?), and Thor's assuming Gamora.

But  _how?_

Loki exhales sharply, drawing his weapon back and mutters a choice curse under his breath.

"We found them all," Nebula says in way of greeting, "they've joined the fight against the Order and the others, but it's grim. The explosion left no one without injuries."

"Thanos is on his way here, he was right behind us," Gamora adds, and Thor's stomach plummets to his feet at that. Her voice sounds exactly how he remembers it, but her features are harder. In the faint light, Thor can see that Nebula's cybernetic hand is charred nearly up to the elbow. When they returned the first time with the time-watches ( _Norns, that feels like a lifetime ago),_ her hand was whole.

This…

Is…

Loki exhales shakily, "We need to move, then," he breathes.

Thor shakes his head, grabbing at Loki's shoulder in confusion and his sibling turns to look back at him. His eyes are still wide and his face pale. What on the  _Nine_ happened? Loki shakes his head, "There isn't time to explain. I'm sorry."

Nebula takes a slight step forward, causing Loki's shoulders to tense up again, but his sword doesn't raise. "We can give him  _something._  I'm from 2023. We found your brother digging through the rubble, Thor, and we helped drag the other Avengers out of here. You're our last stop." She explains clippidly. "Thanos is on his way here to collect the Gauntlet."

Thor's gaze flickers back to it.

Norns, he  _hates_ that thing.

_Nebula is alive. Thank all that is good in this world and any other._

"We need to get out of here," Loki whispers and leans down to grab the Gauntlet again with one hand. Nebula and Gamora give their confirmations, and Loki moves forward to take point as Thor hobbles after the three of them trying not to face plant.

His center of balance feels off and conflicted.

A loud groan hisses out above them, and Thor's gaze flicks up for a second in discomfort. There's the sound of a body, maybe more, slamming into the roof of this. Didn't someone mention something of a battle?

Thanos.

Here.

Again.

He's not ready for this. Why _, why_ did he have to lose Stormbreaker on the  _Statesmen?_ What kind of idiot doesn't take their  _weapon with them?_

The smell of ash and blood is thick against this nostrils, and Thor tries not to gag at it. He feels dizzy, but mostly thirsty. His side hurts, and he thinks that something below his right knee is broken. There isn't time to complain of it— _ha, like he could!—_ so he doesn't say anything.

He is mostly confused and agitated.

They walk, his case,  _hobble_ like he's walking, in silence, their footsteps echoing on what remains of the grating and bits of plaster for almost two minutes of anxious stillness. The trepidation between them all is thick enough to taste before Loki comes to a stop at the end of a hall, and raises his sword, "Stop. There's something—"

A hand snatches out of the darkness in front of them, wrapping around Loki's throat and jerking him off of his feet. Thor's stomach lurches with panic and he moves forward, but Nebula's hand presses against his chest to keep him rooted.

The Gauntlet is dropped from Loki's grip and in a weird stem of flexibility, Loki kicks it back towards them as he lifts up his hand in an attempt to attack. Gamora moves forward swiftly, but before she can swing her sword, a fist slams into her gut and she's thrown across the room, her head smacking into one of the walls.

"Gamora!" Nebula cries, but she doesn't shift forward, keeping Thor in place, though he can tell she wants to run. The figure holding Loki steps into the faint stretch of daylight.

He clicks his tongue and a well of dread opens in Thor's stomach and swallows everything. Loki manages to land a blow to Thanos's face before Thanos tightens his grip and Loki sputters, hands coming up to wrap around the Titan's forearm, dropping the sword.

The Gauntlet touches the edge of Thor's boot as it comes to a stop.

No.

_No._

_Not again!_

"Well, well," Thanos muses with a soft sigh, "my beloved daughters have betrayed me. Disappointing, but not unexpected," he toes the edge of Gamora's collapsed form, receiving a faint gasp, and Thor can see Nebula's eyes trained on her sister from the corner of his gaze.

His fingers are beginning to glow with electricity, giving off an odd sort of lighting.

Loki makes something close to a keening noise.

Nebula releases him to raise her sword. "Let him go. He has no place in this."

Thor nearly staggers onto his face, but manages to keep himself upright as he narrows his gaze on Thanos heatedly. He can't strike Thanos without getting Loki, but he  _has_ to save his brother before Thanos kills him again.

This can't be  _happening!_

Thanos gives a soft laugh, "There was a time where you trusted my judgement without question, Daughter."

" _Release him,"_ Nebula moves forward slightly, and Thanos tilts his head a little. Loki is struggling weakly in his grasp, but it's doing nothing. The gasps are getting more desperate, but smaller. Norns, norns, norns,  _please, please—_

_Not. Again._

_Not. Again._

_Not—_

Thor moves forward to do something, he doesn't know what, probably something stupid, but his foot catches on the edge of the Gaunlet and he staggers. The sound is loud, and all eyes lift to him. The Stones. Thor can—

He grabs the Gauntlet off of the floor, shuddering to the very center of his being as the power rolls across him at the close contact. Norns, if this is what it's like to  _hold_ it, what does it do when it's  _on_ someone?

Lighting trickles from his fingers across the metal, fizzling out loudly.

"Unless…" Thanos tilts his head and looks Thor directly in the eye. There's some mirth in his gaze, as if he finds this entire thing  _amusing._ Loki's struggles are getting weaker. "Perhaps we can come to an arrangement," the Titan murmurs and his grip on Loki slackens abruptly.

Thor feels relief nearly knock him to his knees as Loki is dropped to his, gasping and hacking. He barely has a moment of reprieve before Thanos grabs at his younger brother's scalp and pulls him upwards, keeping him on his knees, but upright.

Loki gasps sharply and something in Thor's stomach withers as Loki attempts to inhale, but it's restricted because of his open sobs. With relief or something else, Thor  _can't tell._

His hands feel stiff and frozen around the Gauntlet.

Norns,  _what does he do?_

Thor flicks his gaze up to the Titan, and feels Nebula shift closer to him. "I'll give you a choice, Asgardian. Your brother's head, or the Infinity Gauntlet."

_I assume you have a preference?_

_Oh, I do. Kill away._

Thor shakes the memory away sharply, trying not to be disoriented. His hands are shaking, and he thinks he might be sick all over this dirty, ashen rubble. Thanos gives another one of his small, placid smiles, "I've made my bargain...what's yours?"

"He's mute, you fool," Nebula hisses, "you dare to  _mock_ him?"

He could speak once. When he wasn't so pathetic. His limbs are shaking with a terror he can't source or stop. He feels jittery, and his skin far too tight.

Thanos's smile grows sad, but he rattles Loki back and forth several times and Thor's muscles tighten. "I know, Daughter. I know. Asgardian? I am a patient man, but the time is ticking away."

No.

He can't do this.

He can't  _choose._

He knows what the answer should be. Trillions of lives for one is not how the equation factors. If Thor is to pick, he  _has_ to choose them over Loki. That is just how this is. He can't...he didn't come all this way to watch his brother be murdered by the same being,  _again,_ as he stands helplessly to the side!

This is exactly like five years ago.

But so much worse.

"Thor," Loki's voice is a rasp, but Thor still flicks his gaze to his sibling all the same. Loki's green eyes are settled on him, something earnest in his tone. His face is littered with tear tracks, and his chest seizes with another sob. "Brother, it's okay," Loki's words are a gentle whisper.

Thor nearly recoils.

No.

_No._

He knows that Loki has factored the equation, too, and come to the same conclusion Thor did. He can't do this. He can't let his only family be killed, but he  _can't leave trillions dead._

"Hey," Loki's rasp draws him back, "we both know what needs to happen. Keep the Stones and unbalance everything. Fix...fix this. I'll...I'll be okay."

Thor's eyes blur.

No.

_No._

He feels his expression break, and he clenches his fists. No. He can't. Not again. He can't do this again. He can't lose his brother  _again._ He needs him. He needs him like an ache. Where one of them is, the other follows. They are a packaged deal. It is how it has been since childhood. Thor can't do this by himself anymore.

He can't let Loki die.

Thanos takes a step forward dragging Loki with him, and Thor's defenses raise, but there is no Mjolnir, no Stormbreaker. There is just him. "I spent a great deal of time with your brother," Thanos says, and Thor's blurring vision flicks up to him. "I know how his mind works. He's lying to you, Asgardian, give me the Gauntlet and you can walk away from this. You survived the first balance, you are meant to be here."

Loki licks his split lip, "It's okay," he repeats, but his voice has a faint shake, "we'll be okay, Brother."

Thor shakes his head, his face wet.  _Please._

Loki's hands tremble deeply, but he breathes out a faint hiss. An echo of words spoken from his lips what feels like centuries ago instead of a decade falls between them, "Never doubt that I love you...I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's going to be okay, Thor, it's okay."

No, it's not.

It's not and it's—

Oh.

 _Stupid, don't do that._ What other choice does he  _have?_ This is it. There is no one coming to save them. There is no backup, there is no plan B. This is it. Thor's hands shakily shift to accommodate for this, and he quietly prays that this will work without killing him.

Thanos's hand hasn't lessened pressure in the slightest, and a chanced glance at the Titan's face reveals that he almost seems...amused. He should have gone for the head sooner. Norns, he should have bled Thanos dry of blood.

He is taking pleasure in their pain.

Sadist.

Thor shakes his head, breathing in hard before he backs up a step. This is an awful idea. Norns, this is an  _awful, awful_ idea. He flexes his left hand and Loki's eyes widen in recognition, his hands lifting weakly.

"Thor,  _no—"_

Thor shoves the Infinity Gauntlet onto his left hand, and his vision blurs with pain as the powerful ripples wash over him. He can't breathe and his lungs are tight with pain. A little hiss slips through his teeth and his vision momentarily blackens.

Nebula is keeping him upright when he manages to grab at himself again, and he can see Loki staring at him with open horror. Thanos's expression is hardened. Angry. Thor shakes his head as a pulsing headache begins to whisper through his mind, and the faint cries of the Stones are louder.

An explosion was sloppy. Thor knows how to make a clean kill, and Thanos was being sloppy.

He could have done better.

Thor lifts his trembling, aching arm and maintains a steady eye contact with his younger sibling before looking up at Thanos and grins crookedly. Blood dribbles from his mouth, but he doesn't care. The words are stiff, but they come, and he hisses them out: " _You_ should have gone for the head."

And then he snaps.

* * *

_I'm strong enough to enter the fray,_

_You were whispering my name,_

_Now I'm finally taking aim,_

_And the predators become the prey._

-8 Graves "Beast"

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: July 12th! =D See you then! ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sharpens the Killing Knife aggressively*
> 
> Thank you guys for your support! :) You're all amazing! Announcement at the end, but please enjoy the final chapter to Withering Away. ;)
> 
> Warnings: Some violence, description of blood, assumed character death.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine.

 

* * *

_"This is the start of how it all ends,_

_They use to shout my name now they whisper it,"_

_-_ Lorde "Yellow Flicker Beat"

* * *

 

Tony wakes to Nebula dragging him out of rubble with at least six different broken bones and bruises the size of small states across his body. He hadn't done much more than groan hopelessly with confusion before she settled him on the ground and said something, then moved on.

A few minutes later, hazily, he can remember Nebula returning with someone else, Bruce he thinks, and kneeling down beside Rocket to gently squeeze his paw before leaving again. The raccoon watches her go with a distant, but clearly relieved expression.

Later, once he's gained a little more consciousness and awareness to realize he's laying beside the other members of his team save Thor, he quickly jerks upwards to assess their well being. He hadn't been there to make sure the time-watches were working, because Not-Nebula had attacked, and then there was  _that_ whole disaster and—

Steve is fine, talking to Clint and gathering what weapons they (almost none, pathetically) have and—oh, yep, army in the distance, cool—and Rhodey has a headache, and Scott looks a little jumpy, but Bruce...

Has no pulse.

No breath.

His face is pale, and an awful gasping noise whispers through Tony's chest as he reaches a hand out before Steve grabs at it and they share a look of mourning horror.

Clint grips his shoulder to steady him, and Tony bows his head, resting a hand on Bruce's shoulder. His skin feels cold beneath Tony's touch. A little hiss of grief slips through his lips without his consent. Bruce's eyes are closed, but it doesn't hide what has happened.

No one is injury free from the explosion, and it shows on their faces and the various body parts they're trying to hide or are careful of. Collectively, they look like they went a few rounds with a large lawnmower and lost.

Bruce is…

Bruce is  _dead._

"It's okay," Steve murmurs, but obviously shaken, "it's okay."

"He's gone," Tony whispers, "oh, gosh, he's really—"

"I know," Clint sighs, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze, "we know."

His face is wet.

Bruce is dead.

Thanos's army is amassing in the distance.

And Bruce is still dead.

Clint reaches forward to say something, but that's when the first blaster bolts hit, and everything really becomes a blur after that. The battle is grim, ugly, bloody, and completely hopeless. He's not stupid enough to be cocky about the odds. They are not  _enough_ to defeat the mindless Outriders, or really do more than vaguely annoy the Black Order.

Tony's updated his suits since Thanos's first assault, but it hardly seems to help  _anything_.

They're already injured, tired, and their weapon supply low. None of them can find Thanos, and Gamora and Nebula— _their_ Nebula—have gone missing. Thor and Loki never got out of the rubble, and Tony doesn't want to know who will be digging their bodies out, because he really doubts it will be them.

They're going to lose.

And maybe, in some distant part of him, Tony is relieved that they really _will_  be doing it together.

Finally.

But, oh,  _he doesn't want to die._ He wants to hold Morgan again, and watch another sunrise with Pepper. He wants to lose another round of chess to Rhodey, Clint beat him at darts for the umpteenth time, Steve give him food poisoning when he attempts to cook again, Thor to laugh at one of his stupid science jokes because he's the only one who thought it was funny, Happy to mock his coffee choices, see Harley graduate from college, Bruce and him make another mess in the lab, Natasha to beat him bloody on the mat with training, Peter to walk into the lab ranting about something—he wants to stay here. With his family.

He doesn't want to die.

He didn't want to face Thanos again, and  _why_ had it never occurred to him before that Not-Nebula was here to bring him? He hadn't even thought of her reasons for being here, but it makes so much  _sense_ and he feels so  _stupid._

They should have been more prepared, but they weren't. Again.

God alone knows how this will finish, but Tony prays with everything he's worth that no one else will kick the bucket. They've already lost Natasha and Bruce. They don't need another one.

_Please._

_Please._

A powerful ripple washes across the battlefield suddenly, halting Tony's attack on one of the Outriders and the blow is nearly enough to topple him face-first into the dirt. A powerful ring of light, power, washes across his sight. He has no idea what it is, but it seems dangerous. And very unwelcoming.

Long seconds pass.

Steve, beside him, looks up with a ragged in inhale and his eyes go wide. "Tony that's—" he starts with amazement, but his voice is cut off as the Outriders release another round of fire, and they have to focus on that. It's nearly another two minutes before blood rushes into Tony's ears with surprise and a deep relief as he looks up at  _sees._

It was the six of them against an army of thousands, and suddenly they aren't alone anymore.

The portals sparkle creating a hoop of yellow relief, lighting up the darkness and casting it out.  _They aren't alone anymore._ He briefly hears Sam make some sort of snooty comment about being on the left, and then they all pour out into the battlefield.

The Vanished.

The Vanished returned.

_They aren't alone anymore._

_How?_

The Infinity Stones were lost in the fray and—does it even  _matter?_ They are here. They might actually have a shot at winning this now, and that's all that matters.  _All that should._ They've tipped the balance, and now Thanos's certain victory is less so. Tony and the others watch, battered and bruised as the others step through.

Wakanda, Asgard, the Masters of the Mystic Arts, Guardians of the Galaxy, the Vanished Avengers, Carol and her Skrull, S.H.I.E.L.D., led by Coulson and Fury,  _Pepper—_ everyone.

They aren't alone anymore.

Tony barely holds back a sob of relief at seeing them, but their enemies don't really dawdle. They gawk for a long second at the sheer  _numbers_ they now have to face before diving into the fray with venomous, loud war cries.

Tony shares at look with his teammates, gathers himself as best he can, and then joins the fighting again.

They still haven't found the Infinity Stones, and Thanos has yet to show himself.

Steve turns to him, catching his shield and wipes blood from his nose, "We need to find the Stones," he says. "You go help the others. Keep the Outriders off of us."

Tony nods, "Got it, Cap. Distraction time away."

He shoots up into the air, and grabs an Outrider throwing him towards it into Midnight Proxima's face. Diving past the woman, he skids to a halt more than three dozen feet away, scanning for any strays he needs to keep away from the destroyed Compound.

Pepper dives down next to him in the Rescue suit, and flips open the face plate to give him a smirk as she fires at something behind him, "You should have invited me." She chides.

Tony shakes his head and leans forward to press a quick kiss against her forehead, "Yeah. No. Not by my choice. Who's watching our daughter?" Morgan is  _four._ There is no way that Pepper left her by herself yet, and their neighbors are all mean and grumpy (something Tony is privately relieved by, they're  _normal)_. She  _got_ a sitter, right?

Pepper smiles innocently, and Tony's eyebrows meet, "Pep—"

"May wasn't doing anything!" Pepper calls and flips down the face plate, "She said she'd take her."

Tony sighs with exasperation and FRIDAY fires out an automatic missile from his shoulder to hit something behind him, "That means you dropped her off and didn't ask." He comments and flips around to shoot several repulsor rays.

"That woman is practically her aunt," Pepper defends, "and besides, would you have wanted someone else to watch her?"

Tony hesitates, then blows out a breath of frustration, "No."

"See?"

"Is anyone there?" Steve asks over the comms, "I've got a herd of Outriders headed for the remains of the Compound, they're blocking our search for the Stones, we can't keep them off."

"I'm on my way," Pepper says and glances back at him a final time before shooting up into the air. Tony watches her go with a misplaced pride and other emotions. He's terrified for her life, but she's helping them. She's so much braver than she gives herself credit for.

_Please don't let her die._

He works on removing the small group of Outriders from completely destroying a handful of Wakadian soldiers, and feels his stomach jolt to his chest with relief when Steve says, breathlessly over the comms: "Never mind, cancel the call for backup, Recuse. Hulk just arrived on scene."

Bruce.

Oh, thank God.

Bruce is alive.  _Bruce is alive._

The thought empowers him, and Tony dives into the fray with new energy despite his broken bones and aching  _everywhere_. It takes him nearly three more minutes before he runs into any of the previous Vanished.

Dr. Strange gives him a small smirk of reassurance when he lands next to him, and Tony resists the urge to hit him. He doesn't bother with greetings, instead, he fumbles out his question without much restraint, "You said, back on that planet that there was fourteen million plus ways we lose, but one where we win. Is this it?"

He needs to know.

_He needs to know._

Strange's face tightens somewhat, and he shakes his head after a second of hesitation. "I can't tell you."

Of course he can't.

Wizardry law demands that he can't. What is this? Cinderella? Tony wants to know if the magic is going to run out before midnight.  _Please, God, please let this be the one. Please, please, please._

Strange rushes off then, and Tony works on beating his way back to the Compound so he can help Steve, Clint, and Hulk ( _Hulk is here. Bruce is here. Tony remembers seeing him get shot in the head. Not-Nebula didn't care, but Hulk saved his life)_ with their desperate search among the rubble for the Infinity Stones.

They don't know if they're still there, or if Not-Nebula took them somewhere else.

FRIDAY's scanners are picking up faint traces of their signatures within the building, which is the only thing they really have to go off of.

"Does anyone have eyes on Thanos!?" Steve demands over comms, and Tony's stomach sinks with despair as everyone connected gives a negative.

Flashes of light stream from every which way, and Tony nearly misses it completely when the Iron Spider suit lands to his left. It's only when it starts to move towards him that he realizes what it  _is,_ and his heart stutters in his chest with anxiety and relief.

Peter.

His child is right there.

_Peter._

Peter's moving towards him rapidly and sputtering out something about Dr. Strange and waiting five years, something about Wanda, but Tony doesn't really listen. Peter's rambling. He rambles. It's him. He's alive. It worked. Oh,  _thank God._

Tony staggers towards him and wraps his arms around his shoulders tightly, pulling him close. Peter's words come to an abrupt halt as he does so (as he has every other time Tony has hugged him), and Tony presses a kiss to the side of his face. Peter's still so  _small._  He's forgotten just how thin the teenager is, how  _tiny._ The spider's arms wrap around him after a second.

"Uhm—this is nice," Peter says awkwardly.

Tony barely withholds tears of relief, but a slight laugh does escape him at that. "I've missed you, oh, thank God you're alive," he whispers softly, and squeezes his eyes shut, before flicking his gaze up towards the sky in a quiet admission of thanks.

Peter's breath tickles the side of his neck, but he leans into the embrace after a second. He's here. He's  _really_ here.

"I'm here, Dad," he whispers softly, "it's okay."

A strangled little gasp escapes him.

Tony's face feels wet, and he blinks back tears as his vision blurs again before he shoves back from the teen, keeping his hands firmly rooted on his shoulders. Peter looks up at him with an open expression of relief, but it falls slightly when Tony scowls. " _Never_ hitchhike again. Especially on the space-ships, okay? That was the stupidest thing you've ever done and I've known you for two years."

Visibly unsettled, but not willing to be downtrodden, Peter scoffs, "Excuse me? If we're taking a vote, I would say that the—"

A blast fires and Tony's eyes widen as he shoves Peter back slightly, but a reddish wall takes the hit. Tony turns and to their left as Wanda rushes past, waving a hand to dissemble the magic, "Argue later? We are busy." She calls, spreading her hands and jumping into the air.

Her accent sounds so weird after years of not hearing it.

Her hair is shorter than it was during the Sokovia Accords mess. When did she cut her hair?

Peter lowers his mask, twisting his wrists as he checks his web shooters to see how low he is on fluid. "Yeah, she's got a point. But for the record, that incident in Brooklyn? With that building?" Tony cringes at the reminder, "That one was way stupider."

Tony lifts up a finger, "Hey now, don't you start—"

Peter gives a lazy salute and Tony can almost see his grin beneath the mask as he fires a web towards an approaching ship-thing, one that looks a little like a donut, but with lasers and pointy edges. He's tugged off and Tony tries not to openly panic as he shouts, " _You are so grounded!"_ at the teenager's retreating form.

He wasn't ready to let him go yet.

Peter will be  _fine._

_Calm down._

Peter laughs, "I know!" He calls back.

Tony stuffs on his helmet and shakes his head, muttering a curse under his breath as he jumps into the air to move towards Clint, Hulk, and Steve. "Teenagers."

"Indeed Boss," FRIDAY sounds tired. "I've informed Captain Rogers you're on your way. Thus far their searches have yet to yield any fruit."

Tony releases a quiet breath of frustration, diving to the right to avoid stray fire, "Of course not. You got a location you can give me on these things, or are we still in the dark?"

"Unfortunately the latter, Boss. They appear to be moving towards the surface, however. My sensors are scrambled, and I can't determine if there's life signs beneath the surface." She answers after a second. Moving? How can the Stones be  _moving?_

Is it Thanos? He could be taking them up to look them in the eye before he slaughters everyone. Thor mentioned once how Thanos didn't snap, even though he'd had time, because he looked him directly in the eye first. But if it  _is_ Thanos, how did  _he_ know where the Infinity Stones are, and none of the rest of them?

Tony frowns, "Pull power from all the weapons save the repulsors. Try and get a wider range."

FRIDAY hesitates, "Are you certain, Boss?"

No.

"Yeah, but do it quickly, I'm almost there." He chides and watches with a distinct pang in his chest as he sees Hulk tearing through rubble rapidly. Clint and Steve look like they're trying to uncover something, but not having much success. Barnes is standing next to Steve, apparently providing cover.

Lang and a handful of others are looking for "a ugly purple truck", according to Steve, so Tony isn't surprised to not see them there.

Pepper is on aerial defense, and Tony spots a handful of Asgardian soldiers providing additional cover.

He gives a slight wave to his wife before diving down and landing with a clang in the dirt. His broken bones and aching side groan in protest to this, but Tony doesn't care. He doesn't have the  _time_ to be injured or sick right now, so it doesn't matter. Maybe it will later. Not now.

He scrambles up to his feet and moves towards Steve. After chancing a glance at Barnes—has the man  _heard_ of the term "cut your hair" before?—he turns to the captain. "What can I do?"

Steve shakes his head helplessly, "I don't know. We're not getting any success. Have you seen Thanos?"

"No," Tony presses his lips together in agitation. "He wasn't anywhere in my aerial sweep. You seen Peter?"

Clint snorts, looking back at him for a second. "That kid is as crazy as you are, last I saw him he was on Valkyrie's pegasus. About two minutes ago, they were that way," he points vaguely east, and Tony's stomach unclenches with some relief.

"Boss?" FRIDAY says to gain his attention, "I've re-routed the power like you requested. There's life signs beneath the building. I can't tell how many or if it's just one."

Life signs.

Who're—?

It could be Loki and Thor. Or maybe Thanos. Maybe Gamora and Nebula if he pushes, he has no idea who else is down there. Tony shares an anxious look with his teammates.

"Anything else?" He questions.

"They're close to the surface, but beyond that—nothing Boss. My fight against Nebula damaged my system. I can't be of much help," her voice is dangerously close to pouting, and Tony sighs a little.

"How far out are—" His voice dies abruptly as a hand ripples through the surface of the rubble and all of them scramble backwards with surprise. Their weapons raise as the large, red-gloved fingers claw at the surface before shoving the debris out of the way and yanking themselves to the top of the rubble.

Tony's stomach drops to his feet.

No.

No—

Thanos shakes his head free of the remaining dirt, and looks all of them over with a scathing gaze. Tony wants to wither beneath it, and a faint twist of pain whispers through the scar of his stab from five years ago.

"Ah...you must be the Avengers," Thanos says and smiles softly, gently almost. "I've been looking forward to at last making your acquaintance."

He shifts his hand pointedly, and all of their gazes flick to the gleam of the Infinity Stones on his hand. The Gauntlet. Not the gold one that lays on Thanos's rotting corpse in the Garden, but the one that Tony built. No.  _Not again._

"Yeah. The feelings are not mutual." Was that  _his_ voice? It sounds almost breathlessly strangled. His hands tremble slightly before he grits his jaw and tightens his fists. An entirely new emotion surfaces for the first time this evening, and he thinks maybe he should have been expecting it:

Rage.

This is the man that murdered his son. That murdered Wanda, Sam, Clint's family, Strange—everyone. He killed  _half of all life._ This is a sadist, a psychopath, and Tony has never wanted anyone dead more. They're Avengers. They  _avenge._ But more than that—they protect.

_I hope they remember you._

_I hope you rot._

Tony lifts up his repulsors and fires rapidly. The surge of power FRIDAY had to steal to get a basic map of their surroundings took more than he was expecting, but it doesn't matter. Clint fires a stream of arrows, and Steve chucks his shield at the Titan's face. If Thanos is surprised by their sudden attacks, he doesn't act the part.

He merely lifts up his Gauntlet and wields it in defense as if this is one of the most boring things he's encountered this month.

Hulk dives bodily at him with a roar, but Thanos chucks him with the Power Stone and he goes flying out of Tony's sight.

"Power is at thirteen percent," FRIDAY informs him quietly.

No.

_Not now._

Steve is shouting into the comms for backup, but no one seems to be  _coming._ Pepper has landed next to Clint and Barnes, and Tony's entire body is radiating with frozen terror as Thanos advances towards the group with ease.

Ten percent power.

Steve grabs his shield as flings back to him and turns to Tony with wild, frightened eyes.

No words are spoken.

They don't have to be.

This is their team. Their family, and Thanos has another thing coming if he thinks that he can take that without facing any consequences. Tony refuses to let them die.  _He can't do this again._ This is his team. His family.

He can see the conviction reflected in Steve's gaze. Like the idiots they are, both of them  _barrel_ into the Titan from behind without much of a plan.

Thanos is thrown forward staggering, but doesn't tumble onto his side or his stomach, and—what does it take to  _knock him over!?_  Tony drew blood. He drew blood once, why can't they do that—

Tony's ears are rushing with blood, and he can hardly make out anything in his head, let alone words being spoken in his ears. Thanos's fist slams into Steve's chest, near his throat and rib cage, and the captain plummets to the earth with strangled, pained cry, and Tony has a second to process that before Thanos's fist smacks into his armor and he's slammed onto his back.

Something snaps, the armor shoving into his stomach, and he cries out loudly.

_Ow._

_Ow._

_Oh, God, please. A miracle. You were supposed to help us!_

A foot slams against his chest, increasing the pressure on his already tender ribs, and Tony grabs at it wildly as he looks up for half a second. Pepper, Barnes, and Clint are on the ground, and the Power Stone is glowing softly within the confines of the Gauntlet. Steve is laying down, and he's not moving.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut.

He built that stupid Gauntlet to save everyone. Maybe it did its job bringing them back, but it didn't do enough. It brought them back, it didn't  _save_ them. It was waiting in Nat's office for hours before Not-Nebula escaped, something he'd put together when Bruce finally shoved him off to take a break from sitting at the desk looking at the time-platform and waiting for the others to return.

His creation was used to kill people.

Again.

The pressure on his chest is getting heavier. He thinks his ribcage is going to crack open. Is he going to die? He doesn't want to die. Maybe he  _is_ dying, because his head feels fuzzy.

He doesn't want to die.

_Please, please..._

He  _feels_ his bones begin to cave before the thick scent of ozone washes over his senses and the pressure is suddenly alleviated, followed by a booming crack of thunder rippling through the air.

Beneath his closed lids, Tony can see the bright flash of light. The cackle of lightning is so out of place among the other sounds of battle. It wasn't cloudy this morning and Tony's chest clenches as he holds back a cry of relief.

Thor.

He's alive.

Thanos releases a loud grunt and Tony hears a weird sort of  _swishing_ sound before a loud voice exclaims, " _Your savior is here!"_

Loki.

Tony peels his eyes open tilting his head slightly as he sees a blur of movement. Thor, with an lavish burn and overall damage up his left arm, but startling  _whole,_ dives past him with a sword in either hand and slams bodily into something. Loki, with his horned helmet in one hand and Nebula's sword in his other is half a second behind.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back on the ground for a second.

This is fine.

It's good.

All fine.

Yeah.

Oh, he's so tired. He doesn't want to get up.  _C'mon Stark. There's still so much more you need to do._

"Tony!" That's Pepper's voice, and he feels hands tugging his helmet off his head a second later. He opens his eyes to look up at her beautiful face, pinched with worry and her eyes wet with tears. If he wasn't already furious at Thanos to the point of murder, this would settle the deal.

No one makes Pepper cry.

"Hey, hey, look at me," Pepper instructs and he tilts his head back to her, smiling faintly. "We're not done yet, alright? Yeah? Get up, you'll be okay, okay? Let's just get you up." She grabs at his arm, swinging it across her shoulders.

Lightning ripples through the air, and there's another booming crack of thunder so loud it makes both of them wince.

"Are you okay?" Pepper questions and Tony blinks, catching her gaze. He...doesn't know. He's wet around his stomach with what he knows isn't water, and the armor is digging sharply enough to break skin.

He's bleeding.

Badly.

Blunt force trauma.

_Bloood._

Ten minutes is probably the max for this, and the strain the rest of his body has been through with Not-Nebula's attack and the explosion hasn't done wonders. He feels ruddy  _awful._ He wants to lay down. He wants to  _rest._

"I will be," Tony says at last, with a faint rasp, and turns to look at her face, trying to memorize it. He is lucky to claim her his. He is  _so, so_ lucky. He flicks his gaze up and sees Clint and Barnes helping Steve to his feet about fifteen feet away. Steve's face is pale, and his mouth is red rimmed. Beyond that is Gamora and Nebula standing side by side and shooting off any approaching Outriders with guns he has no idea where came from.

He knows they favor swords, and a quick glance up shows that their weapons are in the hands of the Asgardian royalty.

The thing that catches his attention the most, though, is Thanos.

Loki and Thor are quickly wearing him down, and the Titan is  _obviously_ losing. Tony has  _seen_ Thor fight with other weapons beyond a hammer or an axe, but never like  _this._ His borrowed swords are a blur against the Titan's defenses. He and Loki move like a well oiled hinge, their fighting styles merging into something deadly.

Loki seems to just  _know_ when Thor plans to use lightning before  _Thor_ does and backs out of the way for his sibling to strike.

He saw Dr. Strange use sorcery on Titan, but Loki's is...it isn't very hard to see who has more experience between the two of them. The Vikings thought Asgardians gods, and for the first time, Tony can really see  _why._

He leans against Pepper heavily as she helps him towards Steve's position.

The pain is brutal, and his body is verging between giving out completely on the spot or face planting and not moving for several weeks. The latter would be preferred, but not exactly convenient. Steve looks up at him, hand pressed against his chest with wide eyes.

Thanos lasts about another twenty seconds before Loki yells out loudly, " _Gamora!"_ and the Infinity Gauntlet goes flying through the air. Tony lurches for it, seeing the others do the same, but Nebula throws her sister and green fingers wrap around the red metal and she hefts it from the sky into her hands, landing in a roll.

"Got it!" Gamora confirms.

Thunder ripples through the air. Tony looks up to see Thor and Loki holding Thanos back in a choke hold.

"No!" Thanos shouts, "You would  _dare_ betray me so, Daughter!? I  _loved_ you like my own! You would dare defy that!?"

Gamora, moving rapidly towards them with Nebula at her side and—holy crap, the Luphamoid's entire robotic arm is  _gone—_ makes a disgusted face of obvious agreement. She comes to a stop in front of them, face slightly pale and Tony can see crusted blood on the side of her head and hair.

"You must listen to me," Gamora says, voice hard, "we have a plan, but it will require more people. How many more can you get over here?"

Steve coughs weakly and Tony's stomach churns with discomfort as he sees the captain's spitting out blood. Clint's hand tightens around the super soldier's arm, and Barnes sends a scathing look in Thanos's direction.

"There's about twenty close enough to get here in under a minute." Steve answers, voice weak.

Nebula nods, "Then get them here.  _Now."_

Tony opens his mouth to voice it over the comms, but FRIDAY beats him to it. "I've told them. Already on their way, Boss."

"They're coming," Tony assures. His voice sounds gravelly. Wet is leaking on his stomach. Blood. Everything hurts. His ribs are aching from the broken bones.

Gamora nods, firing at a stray Outrider. "Good."

Tony's vision blurs suddenly and a faint hissing noise slips through his lips as he presses a hand against stomach when a fiery pain spreads throughout the area. Oh, it  _burns._ Gah! Pepper is saying something worriedly, and he feels another hand touch at him.

No touching!

Stop it!

_Augh!_

He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and blinks several times, looking up as he manages to regain his breath. He pulls his glove away and it's slick with his blood. Oh.

He's dying.

He's  _really_ dying.

There's so much blood.

_Breathe, Stark. Panic attacks aren't going to help anyone._

"Mr. Stark!?" Peter yells behind him and Tony lifts up his head slightly as he ducks through the small space between him and Clint. Peter's brown eyes are wide as he grabs at his shoulders to help keep him upright before they flick to Pepper. "Ms. Potts? I don't understand. What's—?"

"I'm fine," Tony insists in interruption, though he sounds like he's gasping out his final breaths. This is pathetic. "I'm  _fine."_

"No, you're not—" Peter starts to disagree.

"What's…" Sam starts to ask, on Tony's left, before he re-evaluates and asks instead: "Are we going to stand here gawking at the Asgardians or help them?"

"Wait." Gamora instructs.

Tony sees a flare of red from the corner of his eye before Wanda lands with a slight stumble next to Steve. "FRIDAY said it was urgent, what is—" she flicks her gaze up and her fists clench as she sees Thanos attempting to beat his way past the siblings.

They're keeping him back with what doesn't look like a great deal of ease, but they're  _managing._

Strange appears on Pepper's left and Tony sees a handful of others behind him. Carol, King T'Challa, the rest of the Guardians, the Valkyrie, Hulk, and about a dozen others move beside Wanda.

Gamora glances them all over before she nods and turns to Tony, lifting out the broken, charred Gauntlet to him. "You are in the middle," she says in way of explanation, and Tony blinks at her slightly before he reaches his hands out and takes the heavy item from her. A shudder rushes through his limbs as he comes in closer contact with the Stones.

Oh, he  _hates_ these stupid things.

"What are we doing?" Clint questions and Gamora exhales stiffly.

"We are sharing the burden," she murmurs, and meets his eyes, "I am not from this timeline, and you did not kill us the first time. Stark, you  _have_ to put us  _back_ to our time the way we were before. Scattered memories will remain, but beyond that we will have no recollection of this."

Scattered...oh. Oh. That makes...a lot of sense.  _That_ is how Thanos knew him. Not because Tony's name had crossed galaxies, but because Thanos had a faint  _memory_ of  _this_ time stuck in his head somewhere. Nebula once explained about the Power Stone to him, and  _this_ must be how Gamora just  _knew_ what to do.

"You…" Tony's lips form the words slowly, "...want me to snap."

"Yes." Gamora says and reaches out to press his and Peter's hand together. "Star-Lord said that everyone needs to take hands or—" loud yells sound up, cutting her off, and Tony has half a second to look up before Thor and Loki go flying through the air and land hard somewhere far on his left.

Thanos moves forward and Tony sees the Black Order standing beside him. Midnight Proxima lowers her spear-gun-thing, and Tony's stomach clenches tightly in anticipation. The Outriders are forming up behind Thanos.

He's going to be  _sick._

Thanos comes to a halt in front of them, wiping blood from several gashes dotting his face as he twists a thick double-bladed sword. He's bleeding from his chest, someone stabbed him, "You are making a mistake trying to fight this. I am inevitable."

" _Now,"_ Gamora hisses.

Tony shares a glance with Pepper before he flexes his fingers and FRIDAY grabs at the Infinity Stones from the charred Gauntlet, moving them onto his glove. The pain is staggering, but beyond a brief fuzzing in the corners of his vision and the taste of blood rising up through his throat, it isn't unendurable. His vision blackens a little, too, and Peter and Pepper have to keep him upright, but it's  _on._

Gamora lifts up her gun and stands in front of their small group to return fire from the few stragglers as Nebula shifts into the crowd somewhere. Grab hands. She said to  _grab hands._ What the—?

He's going to be sick.

_Aughhh…_

Tony grabs at Peter's hand tightly and grips Pepper's with his other. Peter snatches at Clint's and he sees everyone in their pathetic half circle begin to slowly pick up the cues.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Strange give a very slight nod in his direction.

_Is this the one?_

_I can't tell you._

Steve wipes blood from his face as they shift forward and Steve lifts up a clearly broken hand to grab at Bucky's metal hand, then, in a commanding voice that leaves no room for argument, but is clearly exhausted, he says: "Avengers...assemble."

Hands snatch together rapidly.

And then, holding only their last fingers together, Tony snaps against Rescue's palm.

The pain doesn't draw anything from his voice. Not a scream, not a yell, just gasping tears and the inability to breathe. Like going on a roller coaster and the compression in the chest that renders someone breathless? Yeah. That.

He can't breathe and feels Pepper and Peter's hands jerk against his, but they don't draw away.

He gasps sharply, hot tears spilling down his face, but he can't  _inhale._

He needs...

Oh, gosh, he  _needs to breathe._

Gamora looks back at him for a moment, but he can't determine her expression from his blurring vision. She squeezes her eyes shut as her body stands still for a moment before it seems to...collapse in on herself. Twisting into something painful before jerking backwards as if tugged around the waist and she blurs before vanishing from his view completely. A quick glance towards the rest of the battlefield reveals the same thing happening to everyone else not from 2023.

Thanos, the Black Order, his freakin'  _ship,_ everything.

Soon, the silence swallows everything, and Tony has the briefest impression that they are finally  _safe._ Thanos is gone. Dead. He's really,  _really_ dead. He lost. His hand hurts. His  _everything_ hurts. They won.

Tony blinks several times, trying to breathe in and out, but his lungs still feel  _wrong._

"Well," he says in a wheeze, and his voice feels like an echo in the sudden stillness. Heads turn towards him at it, and it's a fight to get the following syllable out: "Yay."

Tony has a second to see Steve topple forward, Barnes barely catching him, Clint following close behind and Peter grabbing at him, and then his vision darkens completely and he collapses. Hands scramble to grab him, but he's unconscious before his head hits the ground.

000o000

He doesn't really remember much after that. There's faint whispers of people talking, someone holding his hand, fingers tracing broken skin or putting something back together, but he doesn't feel  _present_ enough to really panic at that. A strong whiff of antiseptic, just hospital smells in general, it doesn't matter.

He wakes up long enough to briefly see visitors, though he can't remember much of what happens. He thinks he saw Harley, Morgan, and Nebula, a couple of others as well, but it's all so foggy. Pepper kisses his forehead at one point and promises him he can rest.

Pepper's hand is a constant, along with the faint whispers of the other Avenger's voices.

Including Thor's.

Eventually, he manages to hold onto consciousness enough to actually be  _awake_ and blurrily processes what he can. Everything throbs with a dull agony, but it's not nearly as intense as he remembers it being on the...on the wherever he was. He can't really remember. That's fine. It must be fine, because Tony doesn't want to contemplate the implications of what will happen if he can't remember.

Thanos. They were fighting Thanos and Gamora gave him the Gaunlet and told him to...

He can't feel his left hand. He can't—it's gone. His entire left hand is just... _there is nothing._ He can't twitch his fingers. He can't move his elbow, he doesn't even know if it's  _there._ Tony's breathing picks up speed, and a low thrum of panic settles into his stomach. Tony's eyes rip open, and he attempts to shove into a seated position, but finds almost no success. His body is to weak, and a hand grabs his shoulder and pushes him back down.

His arm.

He doesn't—

_No, no, no—_

His voice feels croaky, but he thinks that he's pleading for help. He can't really hear it.  _Please, please, please._ No.  _No, no, no._

"Shh," a female voice cuts through the haze of panic, and Tony turns towards it somewhat, trying to get anything below his left shoulder to  _move._ His fingers. Just—something. There is nothing. Nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

"Shh, Tony, it's okay," the voice soothes—he knows it, but he can't place why it sounds  _wrong—_ and a hand gently strokes the side of his face. "Let's take some deep breaths, okay?"

"M-m-my," he sputters out. "Hand. Hand. Please, it's—"

"I know," the voice assures, "I know. It's okay, yeah? Let's breathe in, and out. In...Tony. Follow me." The voice doesn't sound calm anymore, vaguely chiding, and Tony forces in a shaky breath. Then an exhale. Another breath. Another exhale. Again and again until his breathing has settled and he can see better. He's in a hospital room, Stark Medical, a vague part of him recognizes, and he thinks he's been here for a while. The room shows evidence of habitation for at least a week, maybe more, he doesn't know.

_His hand is dead. It's paralyzed. It's not coming back._

It's—

"You've done well,  _duratskiy malchik,_ keep breathing, yes?"

Tony stills.

Slowly, carefully, barely daring to breathe, he looks up. He blinks several times, trying to process what he's  _seeing._ This can't—there is no way... _how...?_

Natasha gives him a faint smile from her position in the chair next to him and her hand traces down his arm as if trying to find his hand before she grips his fingers with a quick squeeze. "Mr. Stark, did you miss me?" She questions cheekily.

Tony's breathing hitches and he shoves himself upward despite his exhausted limbs and the machines sprouting from his skin to grab her in a half hug. His other hand is dead, resting in his lap, but for right now, it doesn't matter. "Oh, thank God," he whispers, breathing in the scent of Natasha's hair deeply. She smells like mint. She always smells like mint.

Natasha's hands wrap around him tightly, but gently, in turn. "I'm here." She promises, "I'm here."

"I hate you," Tony's voice is slurring. "You are the most awful human being in existence. How  _dare_ you jump when we needed you. Do you have any idea how much you angered Clint? He was going to freakin' drag you back from heaven to kill you again and I would've helped. You are  _awful._  You made Steve cry, did you know that? Don't ever do something like that again, okay? Jerk."

Natasha gives a faint laugh, squeezing him harder. "Love you too." She teases.

Tony's body is going lax against hers, and Natasha slowly lowers him back onto the hospital bed with a gentleness he wouldn't have thought her capable of before 2012. He tilts his head slightly, clenching his right fist and studies her face.

She's pale and her red hair is hanging over her shoulders without much effort put into styling it. She's dressed in loose clothing, but he's not even a little bit surprised to see that she's stolen one of Thor's hoodies and she's probably wearing one of Clint's shirts beneath that. The woman is a freakin' clothing hoarder, and he swears she has no idea what a personal closet is.

But the most prominent thing is her eyes. They've always been a vivid blue-green, but now...they're a murky grayish-white. It's almost sickening, but Tony doesn't draw back, even as much as he'd like to. Natasha seems to sense his stare and he sees her anxiously try to hide a wring of her hands.

Tony's eyebrows lower slightly and he gnaws on his inner lip before asking, quietly, "What happened? How did you get back? What happened to your..." he doesn't want to finish that. It seems rude.

Natasha sighs deeply and gestures vaguely towards her face. "You lose something every time you die," she says softly. Solemnly. "It was the deal that Bruce made with the guardian of the Soul Stone. He could trade his life for mine, which everyone refused to let him, or choose one of the injuries that I sustained from the fall to be permanent. I cracked my head open, Tony. According to Bruce there's a pretty wicked scar back there," she gives a weak grimace as she runs a hand through her hair. "Between permanent paralysis from my broken spine, paralysis in my legs from the fall, or a dozen other worse alternatives, Bruce...ah...decided this one would be easiest."

Tony sees her face briefly flicker with frustration and he lifts an eyebrow, "You're angry."

She sighs. "Maybe a little. I wasn't given a  _choice_ on what I wanted, and I know that's part of the punishment...but I still," she shakes her head, "Gamora wasn't much better than me, though. Apparently Nebula thought that it would be a fight to the death on who we were going to save, but Bruce just  _asked_ the guardian of the Stones if they could trade for two souls, and, beyond the brief scuffle when Rocket had to steal the Stone so we could get it back to 2014, there wasn't too many problems."

Tony feels a weight lift off his shoulders, "You already returned the Stones?"

"Yeah," Natasha nods, giving a faint smile. "You were unconscious for two weeks,  _b_ _alvan_."

Tony jerks, " _Two—?"_

Natasha sits back slightly, "Steve finally regained consciousness only a couple of days ago. Clint beat all of you, you know that? He's pretty proud." At his disbelieving silence, she rolls her murky eyes, "What were you  _expecting?_ Hours? You were in the center of the equivalent of a  _nuke,_ and then went out and fought Thanos like it wasn't anything. You know blunt force trauma? What about the fact that you, like a stupid  _idiot,_ decided to use the gauntlet? You're  _human,_ Tony.  _Thor_  barely walked away, and that's only because Nebula grabbed his hand when she realized what he was  _doing_ and Frigga gave Loki some of Asgard's medical equipment because she had a feeling that "we would need them."" she lifts up her fingers in quotation marks, shaking her head a little. " _Witches_."

Tony can't help his open gawking, and is quietly relieved that she can't see it. It's humiliating as it is, but he can't  _help_ it. He spent so much time asleep. Two weeks.  _Two._ That isn't...he hadn't even...

"Is everyone else okay?"  _Now_ he asks it? Too busy moping over his own troubles— _paralyzed. He's paralyzed in one arm—_ to ask about the things that really  _matter._ Like his family. The Vanished. Peter. The others. Where  _are_ they? He remembers Pepper, that much he's certain of, and Morgan, but he can't...Peter. Is Peter  _okay?_ He was right next to Tony. What if, because of that, he took some of the worst of the damage? What if...

Natasha's lips thin a little and she breathes out heavily, "It's...somewhat. There were causalities of the battle, but none of our team. Everyone walked away," Natasha rocks her head side to side for a second, waving a hand, "metaphorically speaking. Really, beyond a few more wicked scars, the only permanent injuries to the team was my eyes, your arm, and Steve's heart. Yay us."

Tony's stomach clenches, "What...what  _about_ Steve's heart?"

Natasha is quiet. Slowly, she leans forward, "It's...the doctors don't...Thanos broke his sternum. It pierced his heart."

"And he  _survived?"_ Tony blinks several times, trying to keep off a bout of sudden dizziness. That shouldn't be  _possible._ Yeah, Tony had shrapnel poke at his once or twice, but that isn't the same thing as having a freakin'  _bone_ shoved into the organ. Oh, gosh, Tony can remember how pale Steve looked and the wild terror on his face. Tony had just thought it the result of Thanos coming towards them, he never would have guessed it was because he'd just had his heart  _stabbed._

Natasha nods. "He's a stubborn pain in the butt, I'll give you that. They say that it could improve or it couldn't, but palpitations are a problem. Anything more strenuous than walking right now will probably lay him flat."

Tony exhales softly, his hand unconsciously lifting towards the scar that the arc reactor left behind. He traces it, feeling a cold shudder wash across his spine.

He repeats the words in his head again, and then his brow furrows, "Wait...Thor wasn't...he used the gantlet and he's... _fine?"_

"His nerves are a mess and he's scarred," Natasha inputs, then worries her lip between her teeth, "so I've heard, at least, but yeah."

A twist of awful jealously squirms in his stomach despite his best efforts to quench it. Thor... _walked_ _away, unharmed,_ and Tony will never...he's never going to use his left hand again. It would have been easier to see the whole stupid thing come  _off,_ but it's still there. Like dead weight. He doesn't want to  _look_ at it. He can see ugly burn patterns now that he's looking for it. Along with bandaging. His wedding ring is missing. Probably destroyed in the snap.

Natasha sighs and reaches forward, gripping his right hand again after a little struggle to find it. "Hey. We all knew that getting the Vanished back wouldn't be easy or clean. Honestly, Tony, did you really expect to come home at all?"

"No," his voice is a barely audible. He didn't want to die, but he'd expected it. He's known it was coming, that he's been living on borrowed time since Yinsen.

And now...

"Are we going to be okay?" Tony questions, but it feels like an awful confession of murder. He flicks his gaze away from Natasha, mildly embarrassed. What a stupid question. What could  _possibly_ be okay after this? They still lost things. Maybe not life, and he's relieved by that, but they didn't walk away unscathed. Natasha's  _eyes_ alone...

From the corner of his eye, he sees Natasha smiles at him. It's sad, but it's still recognizable as one. She rests her hands on top of his. "Yes,  _moy brat,_ " she says quietly, "we're going to be okay."

000o000

Thor breathes in New York's smog deeply, trying not to wrinkle his nose in disgust, but not finding a lot of success in that department. Midgard may try, but they will never compare to the crisp scent of Asgard, and Thor would be a liar to say he doesn't miss it. The brief span of days he was able to spend there have opened a gnawing ache in his stomach of longing that he'd thought he long sense closed.

It's fine, though. It hurts, but...it...he knows it will get better.

If he looks up, he knows that his eyes will stray to the star that Asgard is on this planet, and an ache will only follow. It's a supernova now, despite never having  _been_ a star in the first place. One day, he won't be able to look up and see it's ashes anymore.

The night air doesn't smell or taste any different than the day's, and, though Thor is  _aware_ of this, he's faintly disappointed.

At the sound of footsteps behind him, Thor twists around from his position on the edge of Avengers Tower's—the only place they  _could_ retreat to now that the Compound is ashes in Upstate—landing pad to see Loki moving towards him, barefoot and still dressed in the to-big clothing Thor lent him for sleeping. The footsteps were intentional, then, Loki can make himself completely silent should he choose.

His younger sibling comes to a halt behind him, tilting his head slightly, "What are you doing?"

Thor shrugs, looking down at the city again. Honestly? He doesn't know. He needed to get out of the Tower before it suffocated him—dreams, he swears, are nothing but a curse—but he's really not sure if this is much better. New York is  _loud,_ try as they might for silence at this hour, and with the increased population, it's only louder.

Loki waits for a second longer before sitting down next to him, running a hand through his messy dark hair.

Thor looks over at him, "Why are you up?"

Loki picks at his palm a little, refusing to meet his gaze. "Couldn't sleep."

The silence is heavy, and Thor feels his throat close in and squeezes his eye shut, breathing in deeply.  _He is safe here. This is Loki. He is safe. It's fine. Safe. Safe. Safe. Safe. Safe—_

Without really thinking on it, Thor blurts out: "Any world-conquering that's kept you up should wait."

Loki scoffs, and looks up at him. "Beg pardon,  _what?"_

Yeah. That was a stupid thing to say. Thor lifts a hand out to New York, "This. Don't try and claim this."

"I never  _wanted_ it," Loki bites, and Thor winces at the reminder of his ignorance. Loki has told him very little of what happened with Thanos save he was somewhat under the scepter's influence during the invasion, but since he learned a week ago when they returned from leaving the Tesseract at the  _Statesmen_ , he still can't help stumbling over himself. One would think that by  _now_ he'd stop bubbling it out like an idiot.

"I know," Thor promises, biting at his inner gums.  _Safe. Safe. Safe._

Loki sighs. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." Thor submits.

They sit in silence for a little longer, staring out at the city before Loki glances at him again. "Thank you." Thor hums in question, turning to him, and Loki gestures out vaguely around them, "For keeping me alive to see this. I...admit I had my doubts at first, with your decision, but now I..." Loki trails, apparently at loss for words.

Thor's stomach unclenches a little with relief at the admission. He'd been worried about that, in the back of his mind amidst everything else, that Loki would be furious for bringing him back. Between everything that happened after they retrieved the Stones and trying not to descend into constant panic at his worry for his teammates, he honestly can't remember if Loki agreed to go with him or not.

He thinks so.

Loki had seemed skittish when they'd helped Bruce, Nebula, and Rocket return the Stones to their proper timeline, though. Bruce had taken New York and the Soul Stone, and he and Loki had returned the others. Between the anxiety that has lessened somewhat at Tony finally awakening, and trying to run a country from overseas, he'd needed the brief distraction.

And Loki did, too, though he wouldn't admit that outloud.

Thor knows that what he watched of Loki's death was real, but it hadn't occurred to him that it was only real because someone  _chose_ for it to be until Loki insisted they return the Tesseract first, and he used the Reality Stone to warp what happened. It's the reason Thor's out here. He dreamt about the snapping of Loki's neck again. He had to watch it, and knowing that Loki was beside him, perfectly fine, had done nothing to stop his horror.

He kept hearing it over, and over, and over, and over.

Thor breathes out slowly, trying to ground himself in the present, and clenches his fists, wincing a little as his left hand's nerves pinch. He glances at the younger and admits, "Thank you for staying. I'm...I'm grateful that I didn't go for the head, you know, because I got to save you."

Loki's expression softens. "You are a sentimental oaf. You know that?"

"I do." Thor promises, offering a faint smile. Silence lapses, but it's comfortable, and Thor turns his head towards the east, watching the first colors of the sun begin to paint the sky a faint pink. Loki shifts his gaze forward as well, and together they watch the sun rise.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END. I've posted chapter one of (one of possibly others, still not certian) aftermath fic to this fic called "My Blood Meant Nothing To You, Did It?" It focuses primarily on Peter P. and the Stark-fam, but the other characters are present, if you're interested. ;) If all goes according to plan, I'll also be posting an aftermath fic based around the Avengers, Loki & Thor, and the Guardians.
> 
> (Also, the killing knife was for Thanos. It's always been for Thanos).
> 
> Russian translations: duratskiy malchik: Silly boy; balvan: essentially "thick headed fool"; moy brat: my brother.
> 
> Thank you so much for your support, encouragement, and enthusiasm for this story. You have been a blessing. I have greatly enjoyed being able to share this with you, and want you to know that YOU have been such a wonderful audience. Virtual hugs for everyone. You're all amazing, and don't you dare forget that. Thanks again!
> 
> -GalaxyThreads
> 
> See Deleted/Alternate scenes (at your own risk XD) in Chapter 18 of Avengers: The Rubbish Bin. ;)


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